Close To You
by Wingardium Leviosa 11
Summary: Hermione and Draco have been happily married for three years, when suddenly Draco wakes up with no memory of their relationship or the last eight years of his life. Can they find a way to restore his memories? Can they forge a new relationship? A story about love, persistence, memory, and second chances. And maybe also about gardening. EWE, mostly canon-compliant.
1. Prologue

Author's Note: After an impossibly long hiatus, I'm back! I'm excited to write this story and I hope you enjoy it. It's a story about memory and second chances, but through flashbacks it's also a story about falling (and hopefully staying) in love. All credit goes to JKR for her unbeatable universe and characters. 

Prologue

"Are you serious?" asked a mildly annoyed Hermione Granger as her husband took a giant lick of her chocolate soft serve. "You have your own, you know."

"Yes, but mine is strawberry," Draco responded.

"You _chose_ strawberry!"

"At the time I thought I wanted strawberry, but now I want chocolate."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"How old are you, again?"

"28, which means I need a lot of ice cream to keep me looking youthful," Draco responded, taking a giant bite out of her perfectly maintained dome of ice cream.

"You're lucky that I like strawberry," Hermione responded with a smirk, swapping their cones.

Peace was restored for a moment and Hermione leaned back in bliss. This was her favorite bench at her favorite soft-serve spot in her favorite park. And she was holding a cone of what happened to be her favorite flavor (she suspected Draco knew this) of soft-serve with her favorite person in the world.

This was joy. This was perfection. This was heaven.

"Nope, I want strawberry again," Draco announced, breaking the blissful silence.

Hermione rolled her eyes again and laughed as they swapped cones yet again, having never even managed to take a bite of the strawberry ice cream.

After they had finished, Draco took her hand and they strolled through the park back to the apparition point to head home.

 _How many times have we walked along this path?_ Hermione wondered to herself.

She took his hand that was holding hers and roped it around her waist, bringing them closer together.

Draco looked down with a grin and kissed her on the forehead.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too," he replied, "even if you do steal my ice cream."

Hermione shot him a glare, but it didn't last long. The night was just too perfect; their life was just too perfect.

Too perfect.


	2. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This is more the length I'm expecting for each chapter. As always, all credit goes to JKR for her wonderful world!

Chapter 1

Draco stretched his arms above his head as sunlight poured through the window on the opposite wall. His eyes still closed and his mind still groggy, his fingertips felt his way across the headboard of the bed.

An unfamiliar headboard of an equally unfamiliar bed.

 _Oh, no,_ he thought to himself. _What did I do this time? Or, more specifically,_ _whom_ _?_

He tried to remember the night before. Judging by the pain in his head, he had been out drinking, but he couldn't remember where or with whom. Had he and Greg hit the town? Or was this a business dinner that had gotten wildly out of hand? And whom had he gone home with?

Not daring to open his eyes yet, he struggled in vain to piece together the previous evening's activities.

Next to him, Hermione Granger also awoke, but in a much more peaceful state. She gazed at her husband's befuddled expression and found herself trying not to laugh. Was he trying to remember what day it was? Was his mind already on work? Or was he worried he had missed their anniversary?

She sat up and kissed his cheek. He froze and she leaned back, confused.

"Draco, what's wrong?" she asked.

Draco's eyes flew open and he leapt out of the bed.

"Hermione Granger!" he shouted, wrapping the sheet around him as best he could.

Hermione chuckled nervously, wondering what had gotten into him.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Why am I in your bed?!" he screamed.

"Well last time I checked it was _our_ bed," she responded hesitantly, suddenly worried.

Draco's eyes darted around the room. He looked like a cornered animal.

"What are you talking about? What am I doing here? How did I get here?" he spurted. As he grew increasingly desperate, Hermione found herself reaching for her wand, in spite of her complete faith in her husband.

"Draco, what are you talking about? This is your bed, your bedroom, your house!" she responded, trying to calm him down.

She was met with silence and a confused stare.

"And I'm your wife for heaven's sake!"

Draco backed away from her and reached for a pile of clothing he guessed he had discarded the previous evening. The room was spinning as he tried to take in everything he was seeing and hearing. He found his wand in his pants pocket and spun on the spot, disapparating out of there as quickly as he could.

Hermione jumped up in alarm.

What had just happened?

She raced for the fireplace.

…

Draco stood outside his apartment building, confused. For some reason, he couldn't apparate into his apartment and he was desperate to get home and piece together what had just happened. Fortunately, he realized what was happening while he was traveling and changed course before being splinched. Now, however, he stood outside the building, looking up. Well, he would have to enter through the main door.

He used the main entrance from time to time, especially when coming back from a run, so he wasn't entirely unfamiliar with the protocol. The entry was luckily keyless, so he typed in his code and waited for the door to unlock.

He reached for the handle, but the door stayed put. He typed in his code again, but again no luck. As he tried (and failed) for a third time, a young woman came up behind him with a grocery bag on her hip. He stepped aside for her to enter her code.

"I don't think the door's working," he told her.

But she typed in her code, and the door opened right up. He flashed her a charming smile, portraying far more confidence than he actually felt, and she begrudgingly held the door open for him. He thanked her and headed for the lifts.

He got out at the fifth floor and walked down the hallway to his apartment. When he got there, he pulled out his wand and tapped on the door.

Nothing: it wouldn't budge.

What was going on?

It was probably something to do with the apartment management team, an ever-incompetent group of 3 old wizards who were forever causing him headaches.

He turned to leave and apparate to their main office, when suddenly the oddest thing happened.

He was a few steps down the hall when his apartment door opened – and someone else came out. It was a young man in his mid-twenties, carrying a backpack and sipping from a bottle of water.

Who the hell was in his apartment?! The only other people who had access to his wards were his parents and Greg – and this guy wasn't Greg.

Draco went to confront the man, but caught sight of the interior of the apartment, and realized it wasn't his. The walls were a different color and none of his possessions or furniture were there. Had he gone to the wrong apartment? He looked at the nameplate: 518. That was his!

Now he was beyond confused. It was becoming clear, however, that he was alarming the other apartment residents. The young man who had exited his apartment was staring at Draco and the young woman who had let him in had come upstairs to investigate as well.

Draco quickly ran past them and back out onto the street.

He would go to his office and check with his secretary – maybe the apartment management team had moved him to a different apartment? Even as he thought it, he realized how preposterous the idea was, but he didn't have a more logical alternative at the ready.

…

He apparated to his office, arriving with a sense of relief that something had finally worked.

He sat down in his office chair and rested his head in his hands. He was overwhelmed, confused, and exhausted. He wasn't sure which was more alarming – Hermione Granger claiming to be his wife or a stranger living in what he thought was his apartment.

Wait a minute, this wasn't his chair… who had swapped his chair? He looked up, and noticed other things that were different – a different painting on one wall, a different sofa – had someone been redecorating?

Then, he saw it: a framed photograph of himself and Hermione Granger on his desk. He backed away from the desk, keeping a wary eye on the photograph, wondering how someone could have created such an impressive fake.

Someone had to be playing the world's most epic prank on him, he decided.

He called out to his secretary, but realized that it was Saturday – there was no one else at the office.

He decided to sit at his desk and do some work, hoping that the distraction would calm him down. He looked for the files he had been working on earlier that week, but they weren't where he had left them. He peeked into his desk drawers, but they weren't there either.

This was getting annoying and ridiculous.

What to do now? He sent a quick owl to the apartment management team, explaining the situation and asking if they had any idea what had gone wrong. He told them they could get back to him at his parents' house, and then he stood to travel there.

Now he was traveling with confidence: Malfoy Manor was a place where he would always be welcomed with open arms, where he could get a hot shower, a good meal, and a place to rest while he figured everything out.

…

When he arrived at the manor, the first thing he did was to take a long, hot shower in one of the guest wings, where he knew he wouldn't be disturbed. He felt far more human after that.

He cleaned his clothes with magic and put them back on – he would have preferred a fresh set altogether, but this would have to work until he sorted out exactly what was going on.

He headed down the main hallway, looking for his parents. He expected to find his mother lounging somewhere, reading a book or answering correspondence. His father would most likely be in his study and Draco dreaded the judgmental stare he would get after confessing his previous evening's activities to him. As Draco rounded the corner, however, he found Narcissa frantically running around the house, calling out instructions to house elves and rushing to the fireplace to place floo-calls. He could feel the alarm in the air.

"Have you heard anything yet?" he heard her shout to someone through the flames.

"Nothing yet" came a familiar voice, but Draco couldn't totally place it. Wait a minute, was that Harry Potter? It couldn't be.

"Mother?" he called out.

When Narcissa saw him, she clutched her heart and ran to him.

"Oh Thank God you're ok! I'll just call Harry quickly to tell him you're safe," she told him, turning back to the fireplace.

Draco stopped her.

"Why are you calling Potter? Who is worried about my safety? What's going on?" he asked her, confused.

Narcissa looked at him incredulously.

"You disappeared this morning and Hermione has been terrified for hours! She said you were acting strangely and she couldn't explain why you were asking where you were. Everyone has been out looking for you, with Harry naturally leading the search as the head of the Auror Office," she explained.

"I hook up with a girl for one night and she sends out a huge search party? I always knew Granger was high-strung, but this seems extreme even for her. What is going on?"

"What do you mean 'hook up?' Did you have an affair? Is that what this is all about?" Narcissa asked, now looking suspicious and disappointed.

Draco rolled his eyes. His mother could be such a prude.

"I'm pretty sure you have to be married to have an affair."

"You _are_ married, Draco," Narcissa told him.

"What are you talking about?" Draco asked. "Why is everyone saying that? Who is behind this prank?"

"What prank? You're married to Hermione, Draco," Narcissa answered, with new urgency in her voice.

"Stop saying that!" Draco practically shouted. "I mean, obviously we hooked up last night or something, but I'm not _married_ to that woman!"

"Draco, let's sit down," Narcissa said gently. "Let me call Harry and let's sort this all out."

"Sort what out? I just want to get to my apartment, figure out what's going on with my life, and forget this whole thing ever happened."

"You don't have an apartment, Draco. You're 28 years old, have a beautiful house with an enormous garden, and you're married to Hermione Granger."

Draco didn't know whether to laugh or scream.

"I'm 20, mother – goodness, don't you even know your own son's age? Where's Father – he won't put up with all of this nonsense."

Narcissa's hands flew to her mouth. She looked around, searching for something she could use to show him his error. Finally, she led Draco to a mirror and he realized that it was the first time he had seen his reflection all day – even before and after the shower he had been too distracted to look at himself.

The familiar reflection greeted him, but he instantly noticed changes. His hair was shorter and… was it a touch thinner? Had the stress of the day gotten to him that quickly? But then he noticed the tiny, subtle changes around his face. For the first time all day, he also realized that he did not recognize the shirt and slacks he was wearing.

What was happening?

While he examined himself, Narcissa cautiously moved to the window and sent an urgent patronus to Harry, explaining what had happened.

"What is happening?" Draco asked, with a new tinge of fear in his voice.

"I don't know, Draco, but we're going to sort it out, I promise," Narcissa reassured him.

…

Several hours later, Draco found himself sitting in a room at St. Mungo's waiting to see a doctor. He looked warily around the room. His mother was there – she hadn't left his side since she had initially found him. Hermione and Harry had now joined them as well and Draco was trying not to look at them. He couldn't remember the last time he had been in a room with the two of them – maybe graduation? And now they were all insisting that Granger was his _wife_? He kept waiting for the big reveal – for Greg or someone to pop into the room and laugh at his absurd day. His mother's face, however, seemed to confirm that this was no joke.

The doctor knocked on the door and returned to the room, carrying a folder with the results of the various tests Draco had been put through for the past hour or so.

"I'll start with the good news first," the doctor announced. "You're basically entirely healthy. Your brain is functioning normally and we have no signs of any kind of mental trauma or stroke."

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief at this news.

"But the bad news is that there's not much I can tell you beyond that," he said to everyone. "It appears that your memories of the past eight years have simply vanished."

"Did someone curse him?" Harry asked.

"That's a possibility," the doctor responded, "Although typically in that case we would be able to detect some trace of a recent trauma. It could honestly be a lingering effect of a curse issued a long time ago – we know that some curses during the Wizarding War were emitted with planned delays, and this could be a consequence of something like that."

"And that would have been right around a decade ago, give or take," Hermione reasoned.

"Draco, can you remember anyone hurling a curse at you during the war that you might not immediately have felt any impact from?" his mother asked.

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Are you serious? Hundreds! It was war!" he responded. Harry and Hermione nodded along with his reasoning.

"Yes, it does seem sort of useless to pinpoint a specific curse – I can remember days when there were so many flying from different sides that it was impossible to even know where they were coming from," Harry recounted.

"And, unfortunately, recognizing the curse's source is not really going to help us," the doctor added. "Because, you see, that's the worst news I have for you: I don't know that this is reversible."

At that announcement, the room fell silent.

These were witches and wizards – they were used to everything being somewhat healable, with even the seemingly worst injuries not turning out to be that serious. Hell, Ron had even survived an attack of strangling brains in the Department of Mysteries, emerging with only a few welts afterwards. How could this be unfixable?

After a tense moment, Hermione spoke up, her voice more hesitant than before.

"I'm not quite sure I'm understanding you – completely irreversible? Like Draco will never remember the last eight years? Our marriage? Our friends? Our… life?" Everyone could hear the heartbreak in her voice. Narcissa reached out for her hand, and the gesture left Draco even more confused. He had missed _a lot_ , apparently.

"Well, we're sort of in uncharted territory," the doctor answered. "It's possible that his memories might come back, but I doubt that it will happen in any sort of controllable magical way. There's no potion or charm we can use, in other words. But if you walk him through familiar places, memories, show him photographs, things like that, you have a chance of something working."

"Well why don't we just get a pensieve out?" Draco asked. "That seems like the easiest solution."

Harry nodded his head.

"Oh, I would extremely discourage that," the doctor said urgently. "At the moment, your mind is in a profoundly fragile state. Seeing yourself in memories that you don't remember could trigger a complete psychotic break. I would even urge you to be careful with photographs – I'd say to wait a couple of days before even looking at them. You want to do this slowly. Think of it like getting into a swimming pool – you want to start with your toes and ease yourself in, rather than jumping right in."

"This whole thing seems like a waste of time," Draco answered. He didn't feel particularly "fragile" and didn't like the doctor implying that he was seconds away from a psychotic break that could be triggered just by looking at a stupid picture or memory. "Why can't we just try the pensieve and if that doesn't work, I can get my apartment back and go back to the life that _I_ know right now."

The room was silent. It occurred to him that the others were just as invested in him getting his memories back as he was – probably more so. That annoyed him, for some reason.

"How long could it take, Doctor?" Hermione asked, choosing to ignore Draco's suggestion.

"If it's going to work, I think you have about a week or two," the doctor answered thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "I'd say if by the end of 10 days, Draco has recovered no memories of his past, then we are probably out of luck."

Hermione wiped a tear away, refusing to acknowledge it. Narcissa held tightly to her hand.

"What if I don't want to do any of this?" Draco asked. Everyone turned to look at him. "You all seem to be ignoring my wants here – and it's my mind! I was perfectly happy yesterday and I have no interest in being married to this annoying Gryffindor know-it-all. Maybe this whole thing was a blessing disguise and now I can get back to being actually happy. Forget all of this, I'm out of here."

With that announcement, Draco hopped off the bed and walked out. Hermione tried to run after him, but Harry stopped him.

"Give him some time, Hermione. He needs to want this too."

She knew he was right, but she hated watching Draco walk away.

…

The sun was beginning to sink by this point and Draco walked through the park next to St. Mungo's, his hands in his pockets. He kept expecting the world to look totally different, now that he knew it was eight years later, but it honestly didn't. Perhaps there was a new parking lot over to his left, but he couldn't even be sure. It occurred to him that he hadn't paid that much attention to the world around him.

As he walked, he mentally reviewed the day's events and allowed the reality of his situation to settle over him. After ten minutes or so, he sat down on a bench to try to plot his next move.

He could move back to the Manor or stay with Greg while he searched for a new apartment. He could be settled within a week. He could buy new possessions – that wouldn't be a problem. Clearly, he still had his job and, judging by the condition of his office when he was there earlier, he was doing pretty well. With some orienting, he was confident he could step back into it.

So, he could have his 20-year old life at 28. He could pick up as if he'd never lived 8 years and forgotten all of it. He would have a place to live, a job, a mother that he was confident would continue to love and support him no matter what, though he was starting to wonder why he hadn't seen his father that day… he gulped and pushed that out of his mind. _Not now_ , he thought, forcing himself to compartmentalize.

Did he want his 20-year old life again? That seemed to be the most pressing question. He thought about what he had seen of his 28-year old life today: the big, beautiful house, the picture of himself happy with his wife on his desk (and after what the doctor had said, he was happy he hadn't looked at it too closely or for too long), and the affection between his mother and Hermione.

Then, he remembered why he had first thought this morning might have been an after-effect of a night out with Greg. He had been doing that a lot lately. He remembered how hard it was to be in his apartment alone night after night, how even hook-ups left him feeling empty. He remembered how hard he had been working to right the family name and to earn the respect of his colleagues and competitors.

And he thought about Hermione Granger, who he couldn't remember seeing since their graduation ceremony after the conclusion of the war. Surely there was a story there. He wasn't opposed to being married to her because of any sort of blood status issue – he had made a firm decision on that when he turned 17 and joined the Order the day his trace was no longer in place. He had even worked with her a bit on missions towards the end of the war. They hadn't been friends or even acquaintances, really, but he knew they also weren't the enemies they had been in their youth.

Yet she was still Hermione Granger – annoying, infuriating Hermione Granger who always knew everything and made sure you knew it too. Hermione Granger, whose raised hand in class had always caused him to roll his eyes, whose voice grated on him day in and day out, and whose self-righteousness was overwhelming and exhausting. Hermione Granger, with awful hair that could never be tamed, too many freckles for her own good, and a wardrobe that looked like it was selected by his elderly neighbor Mrs. Hopkins.

It was impossible for him to believe they were married.

He finally came to a decision on the bench in the park, and the decision was… to stall before making a decision. He knew a lot about his 20-year old life. He knew its advantages, as well as its drawbacks. _Let's learn a little about what I achieved in eight years_ , he thought, _and make the decision down the road_.

Having made up his mind to at least try to learn more about the life he had built for himself over the past eight years, he abruptly stood up, took one last look around the park, and apparated to the Manor.

…

When he arrived, he found Hermione, Harry, and Narcissa sitting quietly in the drawing room, a small fire dwindling in the hearth. They all looked up as he entered the room.

"I've made a decision," he announced. "I want to try to get my memories back. I'm not making any promises, though," he stressed, "and if it doesn't work, I'm probably going to back to living on my own. I need you all to understand that. I won't be forced into any relationship, especially not a marriage."

They nodded slowly and he could tell Hermione was blinking back tears.

"I just have one more question, and then I want to pass out for the next twelve to fourteen hours," he said, turning to Narcissa. He didn't really want to know the answer, but he also knew it couldn't wait. He couldn't sleep tonight without knowing.

"Where's Lucius?" he asked.

"Oh Draco," Narcissa responded quietly, "He passed away 4 years ago."

Draco nodded, too exhausted to respond, and headed back to a guestroom. He wanted to sleep somewhere completely free of any memories or associations, where he could be anonymous – a place where he could temporarily avoid thinking about how old he was, what year it was, who he was married to, where he lived, and other details about his life. He felt like he was in limbo between two worlds, without fitting into either one.

 _Note: Next chapter will hopefully be up next week! And the flashbacks will start in that chapter - get excited!_


	3. Chapter 2

Author's Note: As always, JKR deserves all credit for her fantastic universe and characters - I'm just here to play! I put the first flashback in this chapter, but I'm feeling a bit nervous regarding the formatting: I didn't want to make that whole flashback section italicized because I find that makes for a weird reading experience. If you find the formatting confusing, though, please let me know and I'll try to differentiate it more in future chapters.

Also, I totally wasn't intending for this to be a comedy, but every time I write Draco he comes out sarcastic and I end up with all of these one-liners that I really like and can't bring myself to cut, so don't be shocked if this starts veering in a humorous direction. I can't help myself.

.

Chapter 2

"So this is the kitchen," announced Hermione.

"Sort of big for a kitchen, isn't it? I'm surprised the house elves can even reach the counters." Draco replied, looking around.

"We don't have house elves," Hermione explained, taking in his incredulous look. "We cook for ourselves and actually quite enjoy doing it together."

Draco shook his head. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Hermione was giving him a tour of their house. The doctor had suggested bringing him around familiar locations to potentially jumpstart some of his memories, and the house had seemed the logical place to start.

She had worried about how he would respond to the idea, given the meltdown she had witnessed at St. Mungo's the day before. She could tell he was skeptical, and she didn't really blame him, but she was glad that he at least agreed to giving it a try. The energy between them was awkward at best, but it was better than nothing and Hermione was willing to do whatever it took to get his memories – and her husband – back.

"But why are there all of these plants in here," Draco asked, gesturing to pots and jars of herbs scattered around the counters. "Don't they belong outside? They really clutter up the place."

"I actually agree with you there, but they're your precious herbs and you insisted on keeping jars of all of them all around the kitchen. We use them with cooking, but you also just liked having them around to brag about." Hermione explained.

"What do you mean, brag about?" Draco asked.

"Well, you grew them, and you like to show off your gardening prowess."

Draco laughed out loud. "Now you're just messing with me. There's no way I _grow plants_. That's far too dirty and exhausting. I skipped herbology as often as I could at Hogwarts."

"I'm not joking around – I'll show you your garden here in a bit!" Hermione insisted.

He shot her a skeptical look.

They moved through the dining room and living room, where she had to show Draco how to use the television and other electronics ("infernal Muggle nonsense" according to Draco). She shook her head, remembering the hours they spent watching their favorite shows and movies together.

They walked down the hall toward their bedroom and she noticed with disappointment that nothing at all seemed familiar to Draco – he peered in every door as if seeing the room for the very first time.

They reached their bedroom and Hermione held her breath, hoping against hope that this space – their favorite room of the house, their escape – would trigger something. She cautiously watched him survey the room, waiting desperately for a positive reaction.

"I seriously agreed to this color?" was all Draco had to say.

The walls were a serene turquoise, beachy without being garish.

"We both liked this color," Hermione explained, feeling suddenly defensive.

"Well that is definitely a lie. I mean, I trust that you're not lying now, but I definitely lied to you in the moment, because I _hate_ turquoise. Let's just see if we can change this real quick," he began, pulling out his wand.

Hermione was quick to stop him.

"Let's just hold off on the major home renovations until after you get your memory back, shall we? Now I think it's time to go show you that garden I promised."

Draco lowered his wand with a sigh of disappointment, but went to check out his closet before following Hermione outside. At least his fashion sense was still familiar – lots of grey, black, navy, and dark green. The sight comforted him, though none of the specific pieces were familiar.

When he stepped outside into the garden, he was momentarily shocked by the enormity of it. There were towering trees, walls covered in vines, hedges that had been diligently pruned and shaped, and rows and rows of flowers, herbs, and plants he couldn't even begin to name.

"How much does it cost to have this all taken care of?" Draco asked.

"I told you, you did this all yourself," Hermione explained. "You wouldn't let anyone else near your plants – not even me. You even preferred to do most of the work by hand, though you used your wand for pruning and trimming."

Draco wandered the rows, trying to take pride in what he had obviously invested a great deal of time and effort in, but all he could pay attention to was the dirt gathering on his shoes.

"How did all of this start?" Draco asked. "I honestly do not remember ever possessing even the slightest interest in gardening."

"It's sort of a long story," Hermione answered, dodging the subject for the time being. She watched him eagerly as he surveyed the garden. It was odd to see such a different look in his eye: where she had grown used to seeing pride, now she saw only bewilderment.

"Anything familiar?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

Draco paused for a moment before answering honestly. "No, right now I would say I feel like a stranger in a strange land," he announced, looking up at the immense greenery.

…

After the house proved unhelpful, Hermione took Draco for a walk at their favorite park, the place where they had enjoyed ice cream just two days earlier. When she asked him if he wanted some, he declined, telling her he didn't love sweets. She tried to hide her disappointment.

They walked through the park and she mentally noted all of their favorite spots – the trees they loved to picnic under, the small pond where they had once seen a turtle – but Draco had no reaction to any of it.

They walked in awkward silence, with Hermione occasionally pointing something out, but trying her best to stay quiet and let him try to remember.

After a while, Draco suggested they get something to eat, so Hermione led him to another spot she had planned on taking him to that day, their favorite restaurant at the edge of the park. It was a small, quiet place, the perfect hybrid of a café and pub. She smiled as they were seated, warmed by the familiar tables, menus, and waiters.

Draco didn't recognize any of it.

They sat in awkward silence after ordering their food.

"So, is this like where we had our first date?" Draco asked, trying to ascertain the significance of the restaurant.

"No, we had our first date in Paris," Hermione replied casually.

"Paris? For a first date?!"

"That's also sort of a long story. I keep forgetting that you don't know any of this. The short version of why we're here is that this restaurant is not where we had our first date, but it is where we first re-connected after graduation," Hermione explained.

"I've been wondering about that," Draco told her. "My last memory of you is seeing you at our Hogwarts Graduation ceremony after the war had ended."

Hermione nodded and the small affirmation gave him confidence. He couldn't remember the last eight years, but at least his memories of the time before that were still accurate.

"Yes, we didn't see each other for a few years after that. We were both 22 when we reconnected here."

 _Two years after my last memory_ , Draco thought, piecing together a timeline in his brain.

Draco waited for her to tell him the story, but she seemed hesitant.

"Well, are you going to explain how it happened?" he asked.

"I'm worried that if I tell you these stories, they might mess with your memories or might make you think you remember things that you don't," she told him honestly, biting her lower lip. Something about the nervous habit seemed familiar to him, but then again he could just be remembering conversations from Hogwarts or the war.

Draco thought for a moment about the fear she had voiced.

"Well how about we do it a little at a time – you tell me small pieces of the story and we'll sort of build it gradually – like the doctor said about the swimming pool."

Hermione agreed that it was a good idea. She also realized that they weren't making progress any other way, and at this point didn't have much to lose.

"Well, like I said, we were 22, and we hadn't seen each other in about four years," she began.

…

 **Six Years Earlier**

Hermione sat at the small table, stirring her drink and staring into space as her date prattled on and on _and on_. This was another of Ginny's set-ups: one of the trainers for the Harpies that Ginny thought would be perfect for her. On paper, Ginny was right. This man was smart, handsome, and had his life together. He was also tremendously boring and loved to hear himself talk, as it turned out. They had been sitting at this table for over an hour and Hermione was pretty sure she had squeezed in maybe 15 words.

He paused for a moment, looking to her for a response.

"Mmhmm," she told him, trying her best to muster energy and show some sort of engagement or enthusiasm. It was good enough for him, apparently, because he nodded and kept talking.

Hermione let her eyes wander through the room. _Look at all of those happy couples and families_ , she thought, eyeing them jealously. She noticed a group of girlfriends hanging at the bar and wondered if she knew any of them and if they could help her out of this monstrosity of a date. She thought the one on the end might be Romilda Vane, but decided she'd rather stick it out than start a conversation with that trainwreck.

She turned back to the young man, who had not even stopped for breath. She managed to smile politely and took another sip of her drink.

Ten minutes later, he finally excused himself to go to the restroom. As soon as he was out of view, Hermione took a deep breath and laid her forehead down on the table.

This was, without a doubt, the worst date she had ever been on. Well, second worst, if you counted that time her date turned out to be a Death Eater and the whole thing was actually an ambush. She remembered the curses flying from either side of the room, Kingsley and Tonks arriving just in time to provide back-up, and the look on her date's face as he was led away by the aurors.

 _At least that date had been exciting_ , she thought to herself, trying to evaluate which of the two was really worse.

Suddenly she heard her date return to the table and sat up quickly, mortified that he had caught her with her head on the table. When she looked up, though, she discovered it wasn't him, but instead someone she hadn't seen in years.

"Draco Malfoy?" she asked incredulously.

"At your service," Draco responded, reaching over and taking a sip of her drink without invitation.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, searching the room frantically to make sure her date was nowhere in sight.

"Well I noticed you were having a spectacular date and thought I'd stop by and introduce myself to the lucky gent." She could tell from his tone that he had noticed how disastrously it was going.

She rolled her eyes.

"How much of it have you seen?" she asked.

"Well there wasn't much to see," Draco responded, "But I've _heard_ enough from several tables away to take pity on you. And considering our previous friendship, or lack thereof, I would say that it would have to be pretty terrible for me to take pity on you."

Hermione couldn't argue with that one.

"Well what do you propose I do? I can't very well just get up and leave," said Hermione.

"Leave it to me," Draco explained, and with that he disappeared.

Her date returned a few minutes later and immediately launched into a story regarding a poster he had seen on the wall of the men's room. Hermione waited for Draco to do something, but as the minutes passed, she started to wonder if this was some sort of cruel joke – to hold out hope, but not ever offer any actual assistance. _That would be very like him,_ she thought.

She was about to give up and resign herself to the longest and most boring night of her life, when suddenly Draco ran up to their table, holding a piece of paper and appearing very out of breath.

"Hermione, thank goodness I found you," he said, ignoring her date completely.

"I have a message from Minister Shacklebolt – he needs to see you urgently! He has a question about wormwood root and just read the essay you wrote during our fourth year at Hogwarts – you know, the one that you handed in at seven times the required length and that Snape mocked openly for the next two years – and needs your opinion immediately!"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at his mentioning of what had been a major source of embarrassment in her youth, but remembering his purpose, she decided to overlook it for now.

"Oh yes, well I have to go then!" she shouted a little too loudly, noting how terrible of an actress she was. Draco noticed too and gave her a small eye roll.

Luckily, her date proved as dense as he was verbose, and completely took the bait.

"Go! Go! I'll call you tomorrow!" he shouted, practically pushing Hermione toward the door. Draco went with her, keeping up the illusion of ushering her to the Ministry.

Once they were out the door, they stepped around the corner of the restaurant, looked at each other, and broke down laughing before either could say anything. They mimicked her date's reaction, sending themselves into a second laughing fit.

"Seriously? You had to mention that essay?" she finally asked.

"I had to – I couldn't pass it up. That thing is legendary."

"Do you even work at the Ministry?" she asked.

"Of course not. This is a napkin," he told her, holding out the "urgent message" he had waved in front of her at her table.

Hermione took it and laughed again.

"Well, I better go before he comes out of the restaurant and finds me," she told Draco. "I'm sure he's thought of at least a dozen more things to tell me in the two minutes we've been apart."

"There's an apparition point just down the street," Draco told her, pointing to their right.

"Oh, I actually like to walk home from here," Hermione told him, gesturing in the opposite direction. "My flat is just on the other side of this park, and it makes a beautiful walk when the weather is nice."

Draco lifted his head, as if feeling the breeze, and looked back to her.

"A walk actually sounds very nice. Mind if I join you?" he asked.

Hermione was taken aback a bit, but agreed.

…

 **Present Day**

In the time it took Hermione to relay that portion of the story, they had eaten their food and had a second drink. Of course, the telling took longer when your audience asked a million questions.

"What was I doing in the restaurant?"

"How am I supposed to know, Draco?"

"Who was the date? Whatever happened to that guy?"

"I think his name was Kevin? I honestly haven't seen or heard from him since that night."

"Do you think he could have been the one who cursed me?"

"I really doubt that interrupting one first date would be enough to make a man curse you. Honestly."

"Why on earth did I agree to a walk through the park? That doesn't sound like me."

"Again, I really don't know Draco."

Draco was happy that she had started telling him their story, but found her recounting frustrating because of all that she was missing. He wanted to know why he had done and said certain things, where his head had been that night, and how he had felt when he saw her in that café.

For now, he would just have to deal with only getting one side of the story.

They left the restaurant and walked back toward the same park they had walked in before lunch.

"Wait, this is the park we walked through that night?" Draco asked.

Hermione nodded. "And quite often after that night – it became one of our favorite spots."

Draco contemplated this as they walked back through the park. He found himself looking at it more carefully this time, trying his best to recognize something or find something that meant something to him. Rocks, trees, bushes – nothing jogged his memory.

After a few moments of silence, he voiced some of his other questions.

"So what do you do, Granger? Wait, is it Malfoy now? Since we're… married?"

"Still Granger," she responded with a chuckle. "I decided to keep my last name. You actually insisted on it, since Granger was what you called me 90% of the time."

Draco nodded. "That makes sense. I don't think I could call you Malfoy."

"It's also sort of funny that you should ask me what I do, since I think that's the exact question you asked right about here when we walked through this park the first time."

Something about that felt good to both of them. They let the coincidence sink in for a moment before Hermione answered.

"I own a bookshop in Diagon Alley."

Draco pictured Hermione lining up books on shelves and ringing up customers. It was a little boring, to be honest. He expected her to be working for the Minister of Magic or something more elite.

"And now I bet you're thinking that's a little boring," Hermione added, reading his mind. "Remember that I still know you pretty well."

Draco smiled back at her. "Well, is it?"

"It has good days and bad, but most of the time it's very exciting," Hermione explained, becoming more animated as she spoke. "You see, I sell books, but not your typical paperbacks. I specialize in ancient and rare manuscripts. I actually find and restore them myself. It allows me to get my hands on and study some of the most fascinating written material in the world, while not 'descending into crazy hoarding,' as you used to so lovingly put it. And I also make quite a good living," she added with a smile.

"Oh yeah? We're not just living off the Malfoy money?" Draco asked her.

Hermione went quiet for a moment.

"What is it, Granger?" Draco asked.

"You haven't touched a cent of the Malfoy money," Hermione explained gently. "After Lucius… after his funeral you announced that you had no intention of carrying out his work or using the resources he had left you."

"So what's happening to it now?" Draco asked.

"Well, I mean, Narcissa still uses it to maintain her lifestyle, but other than that it's just sitting in Gringotts. We talk about it a lot – what you want to do with it once you're the last Malfoy left. You haven't settled on a concrete decision yet."

"But I visited my office yesterday morning – I'm clearly running a pretty successful company. In my last memories, I was rebuilding the Malfoy brand, but it was very hard-going. We were stable, but it wasn't looking good – I had taken on a lot of debt and had started to consider asking my father for a loan. There's no way it could be in that kind of shape today without my family's resources. We are – were – seriously in the red."

Hermione gave him a small smile.

"You did that, Draco," she explained softly. "You never took a cent of your family's money. You built that company and made it the success that it is today."

Draco thought for a moment, sort of in awe of himself.

"I don't know how I possibly had time for that, given that jungle I apparently maintained behind our house," he added with a smirk.

"That's sort of part of it," Hermione told him.

He looked at her with a confused expression. "What are you talking about?"

"Why don't I explain all of that another time," she suggested. "I think we covered a lot today, and I don't want to overwhelm you."

Draco rolled his eyes, thinking this was a lame response, but when he remembered what the doctor had said about the possibility of a psychotic break, he agreed to take it slow.

By this point, they had reached the apparition point. Hermione pointed out where her flat had been when she lived there, but Draco didn't recognize it at all. She gave the park one last look before turning back to Draco.

"Time to go home," she announced.

 _Home_ , thought Draco. That was a weird word, especially when associated with a place that still felt entirely strange to him.

…

When they arrived home, Draco realized how exhausted he really was. The energy he had put into trying to recognize something – anything – everywhere they went, as well as the influx of new information and the frustration of unanswered questions had all left him totally drained.

Hermione suggested that he lay down for a bit and they struggled through an awkward moment of trying to decide where he should sleep.

"Why don't you take our room for the time being," Hermione offered. "Maybe it will help to sleep in your normal bed. I'll take the guest room tonight."

Draco nodded at her logic and headed down the hall.

"The turquoise is still terrible!" he shouted down the hallway to her when he arrived there.

"If you change it, you're going to have more than missing memories to worry about!" Hermione shouted back.

In separate corners of their house, both enjoyed a small smile.

…

Hermione was also drained, but she had far too much on her mind to nap.

She poured herself a glass of wine and turned on some music. She chose her favorite album, one that always made her feel happy and peaceful. She took a seat in the living room and tried to relax, watching the beautiful afternoon from her favorite window.

She thought back on the day, trying to pick out moments of progress. She had to admit to herself that there weren't many.

Nothing had seemed familiar to him – not the places they went, the food he ate, or the stories she told.

But there were moments of brightness: Draco asking her the same question he had six years earlier at precisely the same spot, the banter they had engaged in at several points that felt very _them_ , and, perhaps most significantly, his effort and seemingly real desire to recover his memories.

More than anything else, that gave her hope.

That hopeful feeling dwindled, though, when her favorite song started. It had been their song – the one they had danced to at their wedding and that always held them together.

In that moment, Hermione surrendered to the feeling she had been holding at bay all day: that of severely missing her husband. This whole ordeal was tremendously hard for Draco, but it felt harder for her, if she was honest with herself. She felt like he had been taken from her and she didn't know whether she would ever get him back.

She couldn't hold back the tears and allowed herself to cry for the rest of the song. When it ended, though, she turned the music off and downed the rest of her wine.

She couldn't allow this to defeat her. She couldn't allow it to defeat them.

She went back to the living room and pulled out a notepad to start generating ideas. She had had her cry, and now she would work – this was Hermione Granger, after all.

…

Down the hall, and deeply asleep, a song infiltrated Draco's dreams. A song that he had never heard before, but that was somehow intimately familiar to him, and that filled him with a sense of peace and belonging greater than he had ever known. He couldn't recall the words, but he pictured starlight.


	4. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: Sorry for the delay - this chapter and the next one were a little tricky to write, but I think I have them straight and untangled now. The story will be starting to pick up in this and the next chapter, so please stick with me! I included a longer author's note at the end of this chapter with some thoughts I'd love to share with you guys. Happy reading and please review - it motivates me to keep writing!_

 _Typical disclaimer: Everything and everyone in this lovely world belongs to JKR._

 _._

Chapter 3

The next morning, Draco warily made his way into what he remembered to be the kitchen. He was hungry for breakfast, but had no idea where to start – he had never cooked for himself and also had no idea where anything was. He was relieved to find Hermione already there, making toast and coffee.

His relief was short-lived, however, when he noticed the stack of lists and charts on the counter next to her. He might not remember the past eight years, but he still knew Hermione Granger well enough to know that those meant trouble, or at least exhaustion. He wondered again how on earth he could have lived with this woman, let alone fallen in love with her.

"Morning, ho-" Hermione said, stopping herself before completing the instinctual "Morning, honey" greeting that she typically gave her husband. Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste, knowing what she was going to say.

"Oh God, don't tell me we actually use that term."

Hermione looked at him sheepishly. There was an awkward silence before she decided to just switch the subject.

"There's jam in the fridge if you want it, and sugar on the counter for the coffee."

Draco helped himself and felt better after the first few bites. He had to admit it was convenient to live with someone who already knew all of his habits.

"I bet it took us a while to learn all of this about each other," he said, gesturing to the breakfast in front of him. "What we like to eat, how we take our coffee, stuff like that."

Hermione smiled. "I guess so, but I don't really remember – it all just seems so natural now."

"How do you eat your toast?" he asked.

"Thin layer of butter, if anything – sometimes just dry," she told him.

"Ugh, gross. And your coffee?"

"I don't drink it."

At that, Draco almost spit out the mouthful he had just sipped.

"You WHAT? That's not possible!" he practically shouted.

"It is possible, and the funny thing is that that's something you never got used to – it still continued to amaze you," she told him with a smile.

They finished their breakfast in companionable quiet. As soon as Draco placed his plate in the sink, however, he heard Hermione clear her throat and turned around to see her holding the stack of notes and charts.

 _Oh, here it goes_ , he thought.

"So I was thinking about a gameplan for how we want to move forward," she began.

"Of course you were," Draco interrupted, but Hermione kept talking as if he hadn't said anything.

"I think it would be helpful to have a real strategy for how we want to approach this."

"Is this really the kind of thing you can strategize?" He recognized his mistake when she narrowed her eyes at him.

"There is _nothing_ you can't strategize," she told him in a voice that let him know he ought not to challenge her.

He held his hands up in mock surrender and let her proceed.

"I think yesterday was a good start and that we should keep exposing you to places significant to your life. I thought today at some point we could stop by your office," Hermione suggested.

Draco nodded at that idea.

"I also think it's ok to keep telling you pieces of our story, as long as we do it little by little."

Again, he agreed.

"But there are a few things I think we can do differently. One is to bring in more people that you remember. I noticed you talking about Greg Goyle the other day, so I thought we could start there," she suggested. "I talked with him last night and he's happy to host if you want to stop over and visit this morning. I explained what happened, so he's all caught up."

Draco perked up at this suggestion, eager to be back among familiar faces.

"Are we still good friends?" Draco asked.

"You're still friendly, though you don't see each other nearly as much as you used to. Greg's pretty busy with the family these days."

Draco's eyebrows shot up and Hermione laughed.

"Greg? A family?"

"Yup! Married to Padma Patil and they have five children," she replied.

"Now you're seriously messing with me. That's not possible," Draco said in disbelief.

"I think you're in for a few surprises, Malfoy," she told him with a small wink.

…

About an hour later, Draco emerged from a fireplace into a sitting room that could only be described as "homey." Oversized sofas sagged with use, the coffee table was littered with mail, books, and sippy cups, and toys were strewn all over the floor. Draco closed his eyes and remembered Greg's apartment the last time he had seen it – the practically empty studio with a mattress on the floor, a table with two chairs that didn't match, and a sink constantly filled with dishes. He opened his eyes again and marveled at what a difference eight years could make.

Suddenly, a tiny little person popped into view.

"Uncle Draco!" the thing cried, hugging his leg. "Where's Aunt Hermie?"

Draco didn't know how to respond or how to detach the girl from his leg, but luckily Greg appeared and shepherded his daughter away.

"Remember what I told you, Marigold? Uncle Draco's had a bit of a knock to the head and can't remember too much, so we don't want to overwhelm him, ok?"

Marigold flashed a quick smile back at Draco.

"That's right!" she confirmed eagerly. She thought for a moment and then stepped forward, hugging Draco's leg again but far more gently this time. He assumed this was the compromise she had reached in her mind and couldn't help chuckling a bit.

Greg's efforts not to "overwhelm" his old friend were undercut when the rest of his family toppled in. Padma shot Draco a friendly smile as she chased the older children with a newborn in her arms. Draco couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Marigold took his hand and explained who everyone was, taking it upon herself to help him remember their family.

"I'm Marigold," she announced unnecessarily. "And I'm the oldest. Just turned SIX!" she announced proudly.

Draco nodded, pretended to be impressed and trying desperately not to bolt for the fireplace.

"That's Vince and Albert – they're both four," she explained, pointing to two boys who were obviously twins. Draco was touched by the use of Crabbe's name for one of Goyle's kids, though not at all surprised.

"And then there's Freddie, who's almost two," she said, pointing to a crying toddler reaching for his mother, "And Mommy's holding Annie, who was just born nine weeks ago! I'm so glad she finally had another girl. I hope she doesn't have any more boys," Marigold confided, wrinkling her nose.

Draco could only nod, unsure of how to even make sense of the scene in front of him.

Goyle noticed his discomfort and chuckled. "Ok, Marigold, let's get this lot into the playroom so your mother can get Annie down for a nap and I can talk to Uncle Draco."

Marigold was clearly proud of her eldest-child-status and collected her brothers with a smile on her face, waving goodbye to Draco as she marched them out of the room. Draco recognized her mother's bossiness from Hogwarts – apparently it was genetic. He shuddered to think of what Granger's children would be like someday.

Once the children were finally gone, Goyle cleared a space on the sofa for Draco and offered him a drink.

"Sorry about the family – it's all a bit tough to wrangle sometimes," Goyle told him, with a face that did not look apologetic at all. It was clear that he enjoyed the chaos.

"I just can't believe all of it, honestly," Draco told him.

Goyle laughed.

"I know – pretty crazy, right? And Granger told me that you don't remember the last eight years at all? So you probably still think of me as that work-obsessed bachelor in that disgusting flat?"

Draco confirmed his suspicions and laughed.

"So when did all of this happen?" he asked.

"Right around then, actually – I probably started seeing Padma a month or so after your last memory. We were married within a year and expecting Marigold soon after that."

"But I thought you never wanted any of this," Draco said, gesturing to the room that seemed to speak for itself. "We used to make fun of people who wanted this life."

"I know, but then I re-connected with Padma, and it all just sort of fell into place," he explained with a smile.

Draco had to admit that he had never seen his friend so happy. He remembered Goyle as slow, quiet, and somewhat boring, but the man in front of him was outgoing, dynamic, and looked pretty interesting. Eight years suddenly felt like far more.

"So how are you doing with all of this?" Greg asked, getting to the point.

"Not great, to be honest," Draco responded. "It all feels very overwhelming and I'm not even sure why I'm doing it – it doesn't seem like I should be putting all of this work into remembering a life where I'm married to Hermione Granger and obsessed with gardening. I mean seriously, who drugged me into this? The whole thing just feels totally absurd." It felt good to finally be able to talk to someone that he trusted about this.

Goyle laughed at him, which was not exactly the sympathetic response Draco had hoped for. When he saw Draco's unhappy reaction, he explained.

"Sorry, it's just that if the real you – the real Draco that I know – could hear what you just said, he'd either laugh at you or punch you. Trust me when I tell you that it's worth it."

"Well you certainly look happy," Draco commented.

"You were too – happier than I'd ever seen you. Trust me." Draco didn't believe him, but he could tell from his expression that he was serious.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Goyle asked.

Draco sat and thought for a moment, sipping the drink Goyle had poured him after the family left.

"I remember hitting up bars with you a lot. I remember my potion-ingredient business was going down the tank. I think you and I had just had a conversation about reaching out to Lucius for a loan. I remember it being really hot outside – so it was probably summer."

Goyle nodded, remembering.

"Yup, I remember that conversation – we talked about what terms you could offer for the loan to make Lucius less likely to gloat."

Draco couldn't believe how good it felt to have his memory confirmed, to know that what he did remember was accurate.

"So what happened after that?" Draco asked, adding "Granger already told me that I never took any of Lucius's money. What did I do instead? How did I turn everything around?"

Goyle grinned broadly.

"I definitely remember what happened next – it was one of the coolest things you ever did," Goyle began. Draco waited expectantly.

"You came to me one day soon after the conversation you remember – must have been just a few days or a week after that. Anyway, you came bursting into my apartment with a stack of books and you were just shouting and talking a mile a minute. When I finally got you to slow down and explain yourself, you told me that you had had a moment of genius – you were going to stop being a middleman. Rather than just buying and selling potion ingredients, you were going to start hunting them down and collecting them directly. You produced maps and books, some ancient and some recent, and started listing all of the ingredients you could collect and where you would need to go."

Draco's eyes were wide. "That's brilliant!" he practically shouted.

"That's what I said!" Greg agreed. "And you were off to the races, as it were. You packed your bags the following week and set off for China to find some chomping cabbage. For the next two years, you were constantly traveling. By going to the source, you essentially eliminated huge costs. Even better, you proved to be really good at selecting the best ingredients, so your brand also came to stand for elite quality and consistency. Within a few months, you had really turned things around."

Draco sat in silence for a moment, astounded. It all sounded simple and logical, but he knew how much work it must have been. He pictured himself spending hours and days researching locations and methods for identifying, collecting, storing, and transporting ingredients. He realized that he would have also needed to know quite a bit about regulations and laws regarding the transportation and selling of these things and pictured even more time invested. He thought about himself traveling to distant locales, hiking to remote spots, getting his hands dirty, and really doing all of the work himself.

He was amazed, impressed, and, most of all, proud of himself. He wished more than ever that he could remember it.

"I still have the postcards you sent," Goyle announced, breaking him out of his reverie. "I have them in a box upstairs – give me a minute."

Goyle returned a moment later with a small stack of postcards, which he handed over to Draco.

"I'm pretty sure they're in order," he explained.

Draco fanned them out; there were six in total. The first was dated in September of the last year he remembered, so it must have been one of his very first trips. The front of the card featured an image of China's famous Great Wall. He flipped it to the back to read the text. It was bizarre to see his own handwriting and have zero memory of writing the words printed there.

 _Greg,_

 _I've done it! It took me a few weeks and some trial and error, but I've captured two dozen chomping cabbages. I was having no luck at all until a local farmer gave me some tips – he was happy to help because the farmers here hate the cabbages, since they destroy all of their crops. If I can get them back to London unscathed (and keep them from eating me), I'll make a pretty decent profit._

 _Best,_

 _Draco_

The second was marked December and again told of an exciting adventure. Its cover featured an image of a crowded Japanese city.

 _Greg,_

 _You were right – Shimonoseki is the place to come for puffer-fish eyes! Wait till you see how many I bought – dirt cheap too! The coolest part was when one of the local fishermen took me out and showed me how to catch the fish myself. I'll show you pictures when I get back to London next week – I should be home for a few days for the holidays._

 _Best,_

 _Draco_

After he finished that one, Greg leaned in.

"You might notice that in addition to traveling, you were also getting to know the locals and their customs – that proved huge for you. Once you learned the methods of catching and finding ingredients, you started to be able to do it yourself and your costs went down even further," he explained.

Greg handed him the third postcard and Draco could see that he was right. This one was dated in April and featured an image of a beautiful beach with serene blue water.

 _Greg,_

 _I thought I'd send you a picture of the beautiful beaches here, since I've gotten to spend virtually no time on them. Collecting Dittany on Mount Dicte is hard-going, but I know I'll make a fortune from it. Even better, the view from up there is amazing. I honestly think I'd make the trip just for fun again someday, but don't tell my buyers that._

 _Congrats, by the way, on the engagement._

 _Best,_

 _Draco_

"By this point," Greg explained, "things had really taken off. You had a number of repeat customers who were sending you on special trips and even funding you. You had hired a few people, though you mainly had them work in the office so that you could travel."

Goyle's tone changed a bit as he continued. "This was also when I stopped hearing from you as much. You had been popping by every few weeks and calling me via the floo in addition to these postcards, but here things started to drop off. Of course, this was also when I was deciding to marry Padma, so I wasn't too put out." He added that last part with a small grin.

The fourth postcard was dated the following November and featured a beautiful mountain scene on the front.

 _Greg,_

 _You're not going to believe this, but I caught a graphorn. It took me weeks and nearly cost me my left arm, but I did it. I'll make a pretty penny off of it, but to be honest I didn't like killing it. I don't think I'll come here again for this. Something about it doesn't feel right._

 _Sorry I missed the wedding – I just had a buyer who wouldn't let me postpone the trip._

 _Draco_

Draco traced the scar he had noticed on his left shoulder that morning and Greg nodded his assent.

"That postcard's sort of a weird one," Draco said, unsure of how to interpret his distant tone and unexplained remorse.

"I know – you were starting to get a bit moody around this time. When I did talk to you, which wasn't often, you didn't sound very happy. The business was going unbelievably well, but you told me once that it felt like something was missing. Padma wondered if the success itself had made the business boring to you," Greg explained.

Like with Hermione's retelling of their past, Draco could only hear one side here – his own was missing.

"Read this one," Greg told him, handing him the next postcard.

This fifth one was from April and showed the pyramids on the front. Draco absently wondered about what was happening during the months between these postcards and why he was writing less and less frequently. The postcards offered no clear answers.

 _Greg,_

 _Sorry I haven't written in a while – somehow this just doesn't feel as exciting anymore. I collected a ton of scarab beetles that I know will send us over the top next quarter, so that's good news. I hear there's more good news on your end – congrats on the baby and make sure to send me a picture when the little thing arrives._

 _Best,_

 _Draco_

The last postcard was only from a few months later – August of that same year. The front featured the Eiffel Tower, but the letter itself mentioned no discoveries.

 _Greg,_

 _Greetings from Paris. I think I'm in need of some London time – and hopefully some mate time – so try to get away from the wife and daughter to join me for drinks. I'll owl you when I get to town next week._

 _Draco_

Draco looked up after finishing the last postcard, as if looking around for the next page of his life.

"So what happened after that?" he asked Goyle.

"Well, we scheduled a time to meet up at a little café after you returned to London. I was running a little late due to baby chaos, but by the time I got there you had already left," Goyle explained.

Draco looked confused.

"Sorry, mate, that doesn't sound like me. I don't know what could have happened," Draco replied.

"Oh, I do," Greg told him with a grin. "You met a woman, or rather, you re-met her, and helped her escape from a disastrous first date, walking her home through a park instead of having a drink with your oldest friend."

Comprehension dawned on Draco's face and it was like he could feel pieces sliding into place.

"So that was…"

"Yup, the first time you re-connected with Granger."

"And the postcards stopped?"

"Yup, I never got another one."

"So I stopped traveling for Granger?" he asked Greg, a bit resentful.

"No, you kept traveling, and your business also branched out in other ways – I'll let Hermione explain all of that. I think you were sending postcards to someone else, though," he finished with a sly smile.

They chatted for a while longer, but the kids were starting to get antsy and Draco could tell Padma needed Greg's help, so he excused himself. He thanked them all for the visit and headed for the fireplace.

As he was about to leave, Goyle called out "Are you still in for poker at Ron's on Friday?"

"Ron Weasley's?" Draco asked in disgust. "You must be joking."

Goyle rolled his eyes. "What are we, fourteen? You know what, on second thought, you should stay home – maybe I'll actually hold on to some of my money that way."

Draco shot him a smirk before stepping into the flames.

…

Draco had meant to go straight from Goyle's house to his office, but now he was itching to hear the next part of the story, and knew only one person could tell it to him. He took the floo back to his own house and found Hermione in the garden, struggling with a trellis of long vines.

"Stop fighting me! I'm just trying to trim you and help you grow!" she shouted, wiping her brow with the back of her left wrist and shaking her pruners at the plant helplessly. Her hair was frizzier than usual and she had streaks of dirt and other mysterious stains down her arms and clothing.

"Hey Granger!" Draco shouted and she looked over to see him coming out the door, her face instinctively breaking out into a smile at the sight of his apparent good mood.

"Yes Malfoy?" she asked casually, setting down the pruners.

"I know something you don't know," he bragged to her.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well right now I know eight years' worth of things that you don't, so I hardly think you're in a position to boast," she replied.

Draco dismissed her claim and kept goading her. "None of that matters. What matters is that I, Draco Malfoy, and a Draco Malfoy with no memory of the last eight years, knows something that Hermione Granger, Miss Know-it-all herself, doesn't know."

"Well are you going to tell me what it is?" she asked, curious in spite of her best efforts.

"I know why I was in that café six years ago," he told her with a smile that made him look like a cat with a bird.

Hermione cocked an eyebrow, allowing him to proceed.

"I was supposed to be meeting Greg for a drink and I then blew him off to walk you home," he explained.

Hermione looked a little taken aback – she had actually never heard that before.

"Did I ever send you postcards, Granger?" Draco asked, seemingly out of the blue.

"Yes, dozens," Hermione replied, "Though I think we're skipping ahead in the story a bit."

"Well, fill me in," Draco instructed, settling under a shady tree and patting the ground beside him.

"Let's see," Hermione began, settling in next to him and pulling off her gardening gloves. "After the night in the park, you started coming by my bookstore a lot, supposedly to buy books, but it was pretty clear that you were there to talk to me," she told him.

"How do you know that? I like reading!" Draco argued, though in reality he never had the attention span for books. It was still easier to believe that he had been out shopping for books than specifically seeking out Hermione Granger, though.

"You always selected books from the same section," she explained.

"Well maybe I was interested in that topic."

"It was a very convenient section near the door that you just turned to when I caught you hovering."

"I think that's just a coincidence. Whatever the section was, I'm sure I was very interested in the topic."

"Enough to purchase nearly twenty books on it?" Hermione asked with a grin.

" _Twenty books!_ Good Lord! I mean, yes, I was clearly very interested," he asserted, projecting a confidence they both knew he didn't feel. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"What was this topic, by the way?" Draco asked. "Quidditch? Travels? Exotic creatures?"

"Haven't you guessed?" she asked with a grin, gesturing to the hundreds of plants surrounding them.

…

 **Six Years Earlier**

Sitting on the floor of her empty bookstore, Hermione straightened the cookbooks on the bottom shelf for the fourth time that day, sighing as she did so. She much preferred to be in the back of the store, working on the valuable manuscripts, but her business was new and the restorations didn't provide her with a steady income yet, so the front half of her bookstore was far more traditional: sections organized by topic, popular paperbacks, etc. She had made an effort to make the space welcoming and friendly by adding comfortable reading chairs near a large fireplace and had even set up a chess table, though no one had used it yet except for Ron and Harry when they stopped by to visit.

She heard the doorbell ring and hoped it wasn't someone looking for cookbooks; it was only an hour or so before closing time and she didn't want to have to straighten the section again.

When she didn't hear anything, she peered around the shelf to greet the customer. She was surprised to find Draco Malfoy standing in the entranceway to her shop, looking around. She had told him about her bookstore during their walk a few days earlier, but hadn't anticipated that he would stop in. Maybe he was book-shopping? He had been pretty decent they night he rescued her from the disastrous date, but after their history, Hermione didn't really know what to expect today.

"May I help you?" she asked, moving warily to greet him.

Draco looked lost for a moment and his eyes darted around the store, looking for something to focus on. Seemingly out of the blue, he reached out and took a book off of the nearest shelf, which happened to be in the section on gardening. Hermione had about three shelves of books on gardening – they weren't typically that popular. Draco reached out and picked up one of the volumes and turned to the cover.

"Just what I was looking for – _A Guide to Basil_ , by Pearl Ian. So glad you had it," he announced confidently.

Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously. She hadn't even read that one, and she read everything. It all seemed rather convenient.

"You're here for a book on basil?" she asked.

"Yes, I was hoping to start growing basil and figured a book would be a great place to start. And then I thought, I wonder if Hermione's shop sells books on basil, and here I am and here it is," Draco replied.

She could tell he was rambling and it felt a bit odd – she was used to the smooth-talking, always prepared Draco of her youth. She also couldn't imagine Draco Malfoy planting basil or even touching the dirt necessary to get it to grow. Still, a customer was a customer.

"Do you want me to check you out or do you want to look around?" Hermione asked.

"Most women don't ask before checking me out," Draco responded with a grin. _This_ was the Draco she was used to, and Hermione smiled in spite of herself at his familiar cheek.

"Well consider me more polite than most," she responded. "Was that all you were looking for?"

"It _is_ the book I came specifically to this bookstore to buy, but sure, I guess I'll have a look around. While I'm here," Draco replied, trying to act casual.

Hermione was just happy for something to do and eagerly showed him around.

"This is the front half where I sell the more popular titles," she told him, showing him the various sections and giving him a small tour.

"I have this space reserved for people to read in and even play chess, though no one has yet," she confessed, showing him the chairs and chess board. "And in the back, I have the cool stuff. Want to see?"

She wasn't sure what made her offer to show Draco her manuscript collection – perhaps it was because he had been so decent to her the other night or simply because she was bored and tired of straightening shelves. Either way, Draco agreed and Hermione showed him to the back room, setting a small alarm on her wand to go off if anyone entered the store in the meantime. Once there, she showed him the manuscripts she was restoring, as well as the ones she hadn't started in on yet.

"These are incredible," he told her honestly.

"I know!" she replied, beaming. No one else had appreciated them so much, except perhaps some of her more eager buyers. She had tried hard to enthuse Harry and Ron, but to no avail. Harry had politely looked at her work, but had little to say, and Ron had wandered away after a few minutes, heading back to the section on Quidditch.

For nearly an hour, Draco and Hermione looked at the books and scripts, pouring over small details and illustrations. When Hermione looked at her watch, she was surprised to see that it was 9:05 – five minutes past closing.

"Oh, goodness, I've kept you too long. I have to close up for the night," she explained to him.

Draco thanked her for showing him around, paid for his book, and left. Hermione finished shutting down the bookstore over the next twenty minutes or so and pulled on her coat to walk home. It was only when she was grabbing her bag that she noticed Draco had left his book about basil on the front counter.

…

The next day, a few hours before closing, Hermione again sat in her bookstore, bored by the lack of business and by her task for the day: taking inventory. Inventory day was never a fun day, even for someone who loved data and records as much as Hermione. Absentmindedly, she advanced a pawn on the chess board, stopping when she heard the bell above the door ring.

She was happy to see that Draco had stopped by again.

"I thought you might turn up," Hermione told him, picking up the book he had forgotten the night before and walking it over to him.

"Thanks," Draco told her, taking the book. He didn't look like he wanted to leave, though.

"Feel free to have a look around," Hermione suggested.

Draco wandered through the store as Hermione continued to take inventory. She heard him walk along the row behind her and grew nervous in spite of herself. At the end of the row, she saw him make his way over to the chess board.

"Is this your opening move, Granger?" he asked, sliding a pawn of the opposite color forward in retaliation to the move she had made earlier.

Hermione eyed the inventory list, turned to the chess board, turned back to the inventory list, and then back to the chess board.

And then she dropped the list on the shelf and went to play chess with Draco because, after all, life was short.

They played four games in total before Hermione looked up to discover it was 9:30. Draco won three, which frustrated her, but it was still better than taking inventory. After their final match, she walked him to the door to see him out.

"So should I be expecting you tomorrow?" she joked, sure that he wouldn't really be back now that he had his book.

"Afraid not," he told her, and the look on his face conveyed a trace of genuine disappointment that left her a little surprised. "I'm leaving tomorrow for Ethiopia to collect shrivelfigs – they sell like crazy this time of year."

"Well safe travels," Hermione told him, her tone light. "Stop by next time you're in town if you're up for a re-match."

"I'll do that," he told her with a smile.

…

She hadn't expected him to really stop in again, but a couple of weeks later, there he was.

"Needed a book on… magically regenerative violets," he told her, reading the topic of the first book he grabbed off the gardening shelf.

"You're very into gardening, Malfoy," she told him.

"It's one of my many areas of expertise, like chess. Care for a re-match?" he offered. They played until closing time, but Hermione found that she didn't want the night to end just yet.

"That park we walked in a few weeks ago is actually just a few blocks away," Hermione explained, "and there's a great place to stop and get ice cream there – any chance you're hungry?"

"I love ice cream," Draco told her with a smile.

She ordered chocolate, Draco ordered strawberry, and she spent the rest of the night wishing they had swapped cones.

He came by the next day and the one following it, but told her at the end of the night that he was leaving for another trip.

"Off to Iceland," he told her.

She tried not to look disappointed and kept her tone light. She couldn't believe that she was going to miss Draco Malfoy, of all people.

"Sounds beautiful – send me a postcard!" she said politely, not really meaning it.

"I might just do that," he told her with a grin.

A week later, she was surprised to find a postcard from Iceland with the post.

 _Hermione,_

 _Greetings from Iceland! Doxy eggs are plentiful here, which means good business, but their bookstores are terrible. I can't find any of the gardening books I'm looking for, which means I'll probably need to stop in your shop when I get back. Hope you don't mind._

 _Keep brushing up on chess – work on your defense._

 _Best,_

 _Draco_

The chess comment was a joke, because all she ever focused on was defense, which often led to her downfall. She smiled at the postcard, though, and stuck it to her refrigerator with a magnet.

…

The next few months passed much like this – Draco would stop in, claiming to need a book on gardening, and they would play chess or just talk and catch up until the store closed. They often went somewhere for ice cream or a late dinner, and sometimes he just walked her home.

She wondered what he did with the gardening books and pictured a dusty pile sitting on a counter somewhere in his apartment, but she didn't mind.

He was only home for a few days at a time, but it seemed like as the months passed, his trips got shorter and shorter, lasting only a few days instead of a week or two. And he always sent postcards, highlighting what he was seeing, finding, and learning, and always ending with a reason why he would need to stop in her bookstore.

 _Greetings from Romania! I didn't expect it to be so cold here…_

 _Would you believe that the biggest bookstore in Belgium doesn't have a botany section? I'll have to make do with your collection, it seems._

 _I know armadillo bile is valuable, but I have to tell you the smell might not be worth it, and I don't think I've ever faced a less pleasant collection process. I'd take the Chinese chomping cabbages any day over this._

 _Have you ever seen Latvia? You would love it here – they're all terrible at chess. You might actually stand a chance._

She didn't tell her friends about her frequent customer, in part because she wasn't really sure how to explain it. If she didn't know better, she would have said they were becoming friends. Close friends, even. She found herself looking forward to his visits – to their chess games, their conversations, and to his reaction when she acquired a rare new manuscript or text.

It was a happy, if unexpected, six months.

…

 **Present Day**

"So I just showed up looking for a book on basil?" Draco asked, not totally believing her.

"That was your story," Hermione confirmed.

"And I kept turning up and buying books about gardening?"

"Yes, at some point I even had to order new ones because you were running out of titles you could claim to be interested in."

"And you never grew suspicious that I was only turning up to spend time with you?"

"Oh, I was suspicious of that from the first day," Hermione told him with a laugh, "but to be honest I didn't mind. It was odd at first, but our friendship honestly just felt natural from almost the beginning."

Draco thought for a moment.

"I find that hard to believe, given our past," he confessed.

"I think we had both grown a lot since Hogwarts – you especially," she told him with a smile. "Something about the timing just seemed to click for us."

Draco thought about this. So much seemed to have happened in the two years between his last memory and the night they re-connected in the café. He started to sense that all of the traveling and his growing willingness to try new things and commit himself to the task at hand had benefited more than just his business. He wondered if there was anyone else he had talked to during that time who could fill in more of the gaps.

"Did you ever get any better at chess?" he asked after a few moments.

"Want to find out?" she offered, leading him inside.

They spent the rest of the afternoon and evening moving the pieces around the board and talking. Hermione filled him in on some of the national and global events of the past eight years and Draco talked more about what he remembered from eight years ago and filled her in on what Goyle had told him that morning.

They played ten games and Draco won six of them.

Hermione loved every second of it – it didn't exactly feel like having her husband back, but it at least felt like having her friend back.

Draco wasn't sure how he felt about all of it, and he thought more about it as he lay in bed that night. Two days ago, when he had been told he was married to Hermione Granger, he felt like the entire world had just turned upside down. It made absolutely zero sense. Now, though, he was starting to understand it. He realized that Hermione wasn't who he thought she was and, perhaps more importantly, he wasn't who he thought he was either. He was starting to recognize and appreciate the man he had become over the past eight years and he believed Goyle's assertion about how happy he had been.

There were many things he still didn't know, though – pieces that still needed to be filled in.

Why had he grown disillusioned traveling during those two years? It sounded like an absolute blast at the beginning – what had changed? Had he just grown bored, as Padma had thought? And if there was something missing, what was it? Those years were definitely significant.

What was that other direction Goyle alluded to that he had taken his company in?

And how had he and Granger moved from friendship to a relationship? He could see now how and why they had become friends, but still couldn't see past that. He no longer believed that this was some elaborate prank, but even though he trusted their story to be factually true, he still couldn't totally believe it. Perhaps he just needed to fill in more pieces, but he wondered if that would be enough.

And if he never got his memories back, could they make that journey again? Would he want to?

.

 _Citation of sorts: I found all of the info on the potion ingredients and their locations through the Harry Potter wiki's list of potion ingredients and their uses (and used some basic internet sleuthing to fill in some details)._

 _._

 _Absurdly Long Author's Note: Can I confess a few things to you guys? First of all, I know little to nothing about gardening. Or chess. Why did I pick topics I know nothing about and then choose to make them integral parts of my story? It makes no sense. Please correct me if I say something super wrong (lol)._

 _Also, I think the most fun part of writing this story is that I don't have the pieces filled in either yet, just like Draco. I'm literally writing myself holes to fill in later and just trusting myself to not only figure them out, but to somehow weave them into a complete story. I've never done anything like this, and it's weirdly freeing. I know the general arc of the story and I know how it will end, but a lot of the details are still mysteries to me. Like when I was writing the previous chapter, I suddenly decided that the weird gardening had to play a role in Draco's company. Like I wrote that line where Hermione tells him the gardening is "sort of part of it" without even thinking about it or knowing what I was referring to. And then it was there and I was like ok, better figure that out! It's weirdly really fun – like I'm setting myself little mysteries to figure out and knots to untangle. Here's hoping that it leads to a coherent and cohesive story in the end! Sure, I could iron out every little detail before writing the rest, but where's the fun in that? I hope you have fun along the journey with me_ _J_


	5. Chapter 4

Author's Note: All characters and magic belong to the fabulous JKR! Thanks for reading and reviewing!

PS: THANK YOU to everyone who pointed out that the formatting went wonky the first time I uploaded this chapter. Sorry I didn't catch that - I'll be more careful in the future. Enjoy!

.

Chapter 4

"I really think I should go to work today, even just to look around," Draco announced over his toast and coffee the next morning.

Hermione chuckled to herself and Draco arched an eyebrow at her, clearly waiting for an explanation.

"Sorry, it's just funny how in some ways you're totally different, but in other ways you are still completely predictable. Going into work is exactly what I'd expect you to want right now. You're terrible to take on vacations," she told him.

He responded with a grin: it was comforting to know that some parts of himself remained the same after eight apparently very transformational years.

"Before you do, I should probably tell you a little more of our story, just to prepare you for what you might see," Hermione explained. "When we last left off, we had been spending time as friends for about six months, primarily at my bookshop."

"And I was regularly crushing you at chess," Draco added.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I won my fair share of games too, if I remember correctly," she told him.

"Well I hope you remember correctly, because your memories are all we have to work with here, Granger," he replied with a smirk.

She narrowed her eyes, but continued with her initial train of thought, not taking his bait. " _As I was saying_ , we had been spending time as friends for around six months, and that's when things started to shift a bit," she began.

.

 **Five and a Half Years Earlier**

One day, an owl arrived for Hermione from Draco. He asked her to come over to his flat that night, explaining that he had something to show her.

She felt wary as she prepared to travel to his home, but she wasn't sure why. Over the past six months, their friendship had grown from awkward to comfortable and there were few people she would rather spend time with. Still, as she stood at her fireplace holding the handful of floo powder, she felt something uneasy turn in her stomach. This was the first time they had met at either of their houses.

As she emerged into Draco's flat, she recognized immediately what he had planned to show her: there was no hiding it. She had expected a lot of green in the apartment of a former Slytherin, but she hadn't expected it to be so… alive. On nearly every surface, from shelves to tables to counters to floors, plants were growing. Some were several feet high, while others were short and voluminous. Some happily stayed in their pots, while others stretched for new space to grow and tangled together. The air was filled with the competing scents of dozens of growing things.

Draco appeared with a huge grin on his face and Hermione covered her mouth with her hand in awe.

"I told you I was reading the books," he boasted.

"How did you… when did you… what in the world?" she asked, completely overwhelmed.

"Well I had bought the books, so I thought I might as well give it all a try. It couldn't really be that hard. I started with the basil," he announced, gesturing to what now looked like a miniature forest of the herb on what probably used to be a coffee table, "and then 'branched' out from there, no pun intended. I have to conceal them when the landlord stops by, but other than that I haven't had many issues."

"But why did you grow this many?" Hermione found herself asking. "Why did you keep going?"

Draco thought for a moment.

"Well, it was sort of neat to be able to create something, you know? Like I started with these seeds that basically looked like garbage, but then by tending and coaxing and watering and pruning, I got to create these amazing things. Once I got the basil growing, I was sort of hooked. It has forced me to cut back on the traveling, though, so I have time to maintain all of it," he explained.

Hermione still couldn't think of much to say, but she reached out and hesitantly touched several of the plants. She was able to identify a few of them, but many more were entirely unfamiliar.

Draco began to list off their names – some were flowers, some herbs, and some were things she had never heard of. When Hermione asked him what they were, Draco practically beamed.

"So this is the coolest part, actually, and the reason I finally decided to show someone what I've been up to. In addition to growing the more typical kinds of plants, I've been experimenting lately with growing my own potion ingredients. There aren't many that will grow in pots in an apartment, but I've had luck with puffapods, wormwood, asphodel, and fluxweed when I grow it on the balcony."

Hermione stared at him, impressed.

"But take a good look around, because it's all disappearing tomorrow," Draco announced.

"What do you mean? You can't get rid of all of this!" Hermione responded in a panic.

"Oh, I'm not getting rid of it, trust me, but I am moving it. We've opened a whole new wing of Malfoy Magical to house the greenhouses, and we have different environments for me to grow different things. It will be nice to move these guys to a space where they can really grow, although I'll probably still keep a few around," he explained.

They spent an hour touring the apartment, talking about the various plants. Hermione noticed the books Draco had purchased from her scattered around the apartment, many creased and dirty from use. Even after the tour, she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing.

They ended up back at the basil, clearly Draco's favorite and best source of pride. Hermione fingered a leaf and smiled when the scent reached her nose.

"I bet you cook with this all the time," she told him.

He looked at her confused.

"Cook with it?"

"Yes, of course, basil is amazing to cook with!" she told him.

"I wouldn't know – I've never cooked," he told her, nonchalant.

Now she was even more stunned.

"So you've been growing all of these plants, including herbs and even some vegetables, for six months, and you've never _used_ them?" she asked incredulously.

"I think you have a narrow idea of 'use,'" he told her haughtily. "I use them for their decorative qualities."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You just don't know how to cook, do you?"

"I will concede that that is also a reason," Draco admitted, and Hermione could tell he was biting his cheeks to conceal a smile.

Hermione looked at her watch and then back at Draco.

"Right. Time to teach you how to be an adult, Malfoy. I'll be back in twenty minutes. Can you get a pot of water boiling?"

"Of course I can, I'm not a blasted first-year… but do I need to have a pot for that?" he replied.

"Ugh, make that thirty minutes. See you soon."

When she returned later, she taught Draco how to make a simple pasta dish with a tomato and basil sauce. He was nervous about picking the basil and had to leave the room when Hermione began slicing it up, muttering about how much time he had spent and how she was killing his darlings, but he later admitted it was worth it when he tasted the sauce.

.

 **Present Day**

"So by that point, I had sort of given up the charade that I was had stopped by your bookstore out of a prior interest in gardening?" Draco asked.

"Yeah, we were well past that," Hermione confirmed. "Though I can see why that feels a bit off to you now, since I'm condensing six months into a short story."

"And I'm guessing that my interest in gardening didn't decline over the next six years?" he asked nervously.

"Trust me, I wish I could say that it did, but no – if anything, it became far worse."

"And the garden outside of our house isn't my only one?"

"Unfortunately not."

"And when I go into the office today, I'm going to find even more plants?"

"Yup."

"Like even more than I'm picturing now, in a vision that is already pretty terrifying?"

"Yup," Hermione confirmed, refilling his half-empty cup of coffee. "I have the feeling you're going to need that. Drink up!"

…

Draco arrived at Malfoy Magical around 10:00 that morning. He stood in the lobby, in awe at the size of his operation. The company of his memory was essentially just him, working in a small space with a part-time secretary and a few workspaces that he mainly used for storage. Now, he watched dozens of wizards and witches walking to and from lifts and across the lobby.

It was humbling, and Draco was not a man to easily be humbled.

A middle-aged woman with her hair up in a tight bun approached him, thankfully carrying another cup of coffee.

"Mr. Malfoy, welcome," she told him, shaking his hand enthusiastically and offering him a slightly-too-intense smile. "I'm Rita, your administrative assistant. It's so wonderful to see you!"

He smiled politely at Rita and told her he was excited to be back.

"I suppose I'll need a tour," he started to explain, but he was quickly cut off by a fervently nodding Rita.

"Yes, yes, yes, we've arranged all of that." She started walking off and Draco assumed he should follow her. Looking over her shoulder, she called to him "the Vice President had set aside the whole day to show you around and catch you up."

He was relieved that it wasn't Rita he'd be spending his day with, especially as he struggled to keep up with her pace as she practically jogged across the lobby.

They took a lift to the eighth floor and Rita showed him down a hallway, chatting the whole time.

"And this is the executive floor and your office is just down the hallway and that's Sandra and that's Amelia and oh! There's Robert! Hi Robert! Don't worry, you'll remember everyone by lunch! Now we just had this carpet redone but I know you're finicky about colors so if you're unhappy with it we can always change it and…"

Draco stopped paying attention around there.

They got to his office and Rita told him the vice president was waiting just inside.

He walked in, turned to his desk, and saw Neville Longbottom.

"Um, Rita?" he called.

"Yes sir?" Suddenly she was at his side, and her abrupt appearance made him jump about a foot.

He recovered quickly. "Why is Neville Longbottom at my desk?" he asked.

"Because I'm Vice President of Malfoy Magical," Neville told him with a grin.

He rose from the desk and walked to shake Draco's hand.

Draco thought back on the previous few days and what he had learned: he had saved his company single-handedly through some very brave and savvy adventuring, he had married Hermione Granger, he was obsessed with gardening, he refused to use his family's money, he lived without house elves…

Nope: the fact that Neville Longbottom was the vice president of his company was _by far_ the least believable thing he had learned.

Neville could read his face like a book, especially since he had come to know Draco well over the last few years, and laughed off his friend's shock.

"Yes, unbelievable, I know, but it's the truth. You brought me on a few years ago after your Plants and Fungi Wing had taken off and you were having trouble keeping up with everything. I'm actually the only person you ever trusted besides yourself to oversee the greenhouses, though you did obsessively look over all of my plans and records," Neville explained.

"Naturally," Draco replied.

"And I've been taking care of everything in your absence, so nothing to worry about," Neville told him, clapping a hand on his back.

Draco had a sneaking suspicion that Neville preferred the office without his micro-managing company president around…

He had to admit that he could see the logic of bringing on Neville Longbottom. He was clearly the most talented herbologist of his generation and, if that was the direction his company had taken, it made sense.

But, still… Draco shuddered at the idea of filling his life with so many Gryffindors.

Success and happiness, yes, but at what cost?

…

The tour of Malfoy Magical lasted the rest of the morning and Draco was stunned by what he saw. First of all, the sheer size of his company was unimaginable. There were departments responsible for collecting inanimate objects, like stones and minerals, for working with magical creatures, and of course for growing and harvesting magical plants and fungi. Each featured its own surprises that left him impressed. In the Magical Creatures Wing, for example, he was stunned to learn that his company did not hold any animals in captivity or kill any animals for their features or parts. He thought back to the postcard he had sent Greg about the graphorn and suspected that this was the legacy of that painful day. Instead, the department worked with magical zoos and veterinary hospitals to collect things like feathers and talons that animals naturally shed. For parts that could only be harvested after the animal's death, the company did so respectfully and only from creatures that had died of natural causes.

Malfoy Magical also had an advanced research department, focused on discovering new magical ingredients and improving the potency and quality of the ones they already grew or procured. Draco watched the witches and wizards hard at work in the research lab and marveled at the idea that he had started all of this.

As Hermione had promised, the greenhouses were overwhelmingly expansive. Neville spent the longest time here, showing Draco all of the amazing and unusual plants that they were growing. He reported on several statistics and measures of progress, but Draco couldn't really understand them, so he just nodded politely. He didn't remember any of it, but he still felt pulled by it somehow, and the feeling encouraged him.

Besides the scale of the operation, Draco also came across several other things that taught him a great deal about his professional history over the past eight years. On the walls at several points hung plaques and framed celebratory photographs, which he asked Neville to explain.

"That one there is the Minister's Appreciation Award, which you won three years ago," Neville explained. "After a terrifying outbreak of dragonpox, we donated all of the ingredients necessary for St. Mungo's to keep making batches of the cure, and you refused to accept any payment at all."

Draco couldn't believe that he had done that, and the shrewd Slytherin in him wondered if it had been a PR move. If that was the case, it appeared to have worked.

There were several plaques related to his ethical treatment of research subjects and magical creatures, which Neville also pointed out.

"Hermione was particularly proud of those," he told Draco with a grin.

There was a framed photograph of Draco and Neville with about fifteen other people, and Neville explained that that was from the day they had first expanded their business internationally. Draco was cautious as he looked at the photographs, remembering the doctor's warning, but his mind seemed fine. He mentally noted that he should report that to Hermione later.

Draco watched the size of his company grow in photographs and looked in awe at the most recent photograph, taken at the company holiday party, which featured roughly 200 witches and wizards raising a glass in cheers.

At the end of his tour, Neville dropped Draco back off at his office, explaining that Hermione would be meeting him there for lunch. Afterwards, they would look at some numbers and statistics and Neville had a few questions for him about future decisions.

Alone at last, Draco stood in his office, surveying it. It was easy to see why he hadn't noticed it was different when he arrived there the first day after his memories disappeared: most of it really did look the same as his last memory of it. He clearly had retained an affection for the layout and size.

Yet, there were significant differences. No paperwork littered his desk, and Draco realized that he probably didn't do a lot of paperwork himself anymore. The new painting on the wall featured a mountainous landscape and Draco absently wondered if he had picked it up on one of his travels.

He looked again at the photograph on his desk, still carefully, but more confident that nothing bad would happen this time, and he was right. It was a framed photograph of Hermione and Draco sitting on a sofa. Draco had his arm draped over Hermione's shoulders and she snuggled her head into his shoulder, laughing at something. He watched as the photograph image of himself smiled and kissed her head before turning toward the camera.

He made eye contact with the photographic Draco and felt something freeze inside of him.

He didn't have time to interrogate the feeling, though, because at that moment Hermione walked into his office. He quickly dropped the frame into the briefcase he had brought with him, deciding to look at it more carefully later.

"So how was your tour? Anything familiar?" Hermione asked hopefully.

"Nothing familiar, but I have to admit that I'm impressed. The idea that I built all of this, and without any of the Malfoy money, it's really just overwhelming," he told her honestly.

Hermione hid her disappointment and smiled, happy that he had reacted positively at least. She started to unpack the lunch that she had brought for them and they settled into their sandwiches on the office's couch. Draco told her more about the tour, mentioning that he had viewed the photographs on the wall without any issue at all. They ate in silence for a couple of minutes after his account, eating their lunch.

"So what happened next?" Draco asked, and it took Hermione a moment to realize he was talking about their story.

"Are you sure we should do more of this?" Hermione asked cautiously. "I don't want to overwhelm your mind and we've already gone through one part today."

"Please, Granger," Draco replied sarcastically. "I'm not as fragile as all that. And you told me about _one day_. Surely you can tell me a little more."

He noticed that Granger seemed nervous, avoiding eye contact.

"Maybe we'll just do more tomorrow."

"Oh come on!"

"Fine, fine," she conceded, knowing that he was right and that she was just stalling. "I'll tell you a bit more now."

.

 **Five and a Half Years Earlier**

After the night Draco and Hermione cooked at his apartment, it was as if their friendship had stepped from darkness into light. They still spent time at Hermione's bookshop, but also did other things. They went to festivals, concerts, and museum openings. They walked through parks and toured art exhibits. They spent time at each other's homes, cooking, watching movies, reading, and playing chess.

It was almost like they were dating, and it seemed like everyone assumed that they were at some point. Hermione constantly fielded questions from people about her "boyfriend" and more than once a speculative photo of the two of them ended up in the newspaper. They both rolled their eyes over it, though, and paid it no attention.

Hermione had been worried about how her other friends would respond to her new friendship, and at first there was definitely some tension, but it dissipated quickly. They were all older, especially after their experiences in the war, and the rivalries of their young teens seemed rather silly in hindsight. They had all ended up on the same side by the final battle, and that seemed to be enough.

Draco started to join the boys' pick-up quidditch games and he and Ron even sat down at the chess table in Hermione's bookstore a few times.

Hermione had always been close to Ron and Harry – and they still were – but her friendship with Draco was different, and she started to realize this as they spent more time together. Draco didn't rely on her nearly as much as Harry and Ron did; he was far more independent. And he challenged her, too – he was her equal, intellectually. It wasn't that Harry and Ron were unintelligent, but that their conversations rarely touched on recent scientific discoveries, ongoing moral issues, or different international customs.

Soon, it seemed like Draco and Hermione's lives were becoming so intertwined that they were rarely apart. They ate at least one meal together every day and made plans for weekend outings without even consulting the other. Draco wasn't traveling nearly as much for work anymore, and when he did, he sent her so many owls that he rarely had anything new to report when he got home.

Hermione often wondered why they _weren't_ dating, and several of her friends asked her the same question. Ginny brought it up the most often, cornering Hermione at the burrow or on their rare girls' nights.

"I don't know, Gin," Hermione would tell her. "But I like things the way they are now – we just have no reason to change anything."

"But have you _seen_ him, Hermione? He's gorgeous. How could you want more?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, Ginny, I'm well aware that he is factually gorgeous. And I would know it even if I was blind, since you remind me so often. That's just not why we spend time together, that's all."

But if Ginny had asked her if she had ever felt something deeper, if she had ever found herself leaning in closer, or if she had ever caught herself staring without thinking, well, then Hermione would have abruptly changed the subject.

There were moments, too, that hinted at something more, and Hermione thought through them over and over when she was alone, trying to decipher their meaning.

Once, when she was home sick for a few days, Draco filled her flat with flowers from his greenhouses to cheer her up.

Was that romantic?

Once, when he was over her flat to watch a movie, she fell asleep on the couch and woke up to find herself covered with a blanket, though Draco was gone.

Was that just friendship, or more?

Once, when he was traveling, he found a rare copy of a second century magical text and bought it for her, coming to her bookstore to show her before even returning home.

Was that personal or just a business favor?

Once, when they were walking through the park, Draco grabbed her hand excitedly to point out a rare type of snapdragon he had been hoping to graft in his greenhouse, and afterwards, he had continued to hold it for a few more moments.

Was that just a coincidence?

She didn't know, and she didn't know that she wanted to know, because the truth was that she was scared of losing what they had. The friendship they had built was the most meaningful one of her life, even more than her relationship with Harry or Ron (though she would never tell them that), and she didn't want to jeopardize it, especially when she wasn't sure he felt the same way.

.

 **Present Day**

Hermione stopped in her re-telling and looked at the clock.

"It's nearly 1:00," she told him, "I should be getting back to my shop. I have a meeting with a Greek historian who is interested in one of my Cretian scrolls."

"Wait, Granger, you can't just leave off there!" Draco replied, trying to stop her. "What happens next? It feels like you're just leaving off on the good part."

"I'll tell you later, Draco. I really should go." He noticed that she was avoiding eye contact with him and felt confused. Wasn't she just telling them how amazing their friendship had been? Why was she making this awkward?

She stood up and reached for her bag and he felt himself growing angry.

"I feel like you're leaving out part of the story," he accused, standing as well.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied, still not looking directly at him.

"I was friends with you for months- "

"A year," Hermione corrected, not realizing that she was only fueling his anger.

"I was friends with you for _a year_ ," he continued, his volume growing, "and I never made a move? We were spending all of that time together, going places together, cooking together, and nothing ever happened? I did you all of those favors just out of friendship?"

"This is hard!" Hermione finally exploded, and with her wand she placed a silencing charm on the door of his office so that no one would hear their argument.

"It's hard to tell you all of these things without you having any recollection!" she continued, her volume matching his now. "It feels like I'm professing my love to a rock! It feels like I'm violating your privacy, sharing secrets, telling a stranger all of our intimate moments! It's _weird_ , Malfoy!"

They both were quiet for a moment. Draco thought over what she said and, as much as he wanted to snap back with something rude, he could understand what she was saying.

He took a deep breath and turned to her.

"Ok, ok, I get it," he told her, "But how am I ever supposed to come back to myself if I don't know these things?"

"I know, I know," she replied, sitting down and putting her head in her hands, absently rubbing her temples in small circles. "But can you just be a little more patient with me? Can you recognize that this is hard for me too?"

Draco sat down next to her and almost put his arm around her shoulders, but stopped himself. He was reminded of the picture in his briefcase, and his memory of the image motivated him to go easy on her just now.

"I can do that," he promised her.

…

The afternoon passed by quickly, and Draco was pleased to find that he could actually still contribute something. He and Neville talked through a few accounts they were hoping to pursue and a couple of other decisions they had been thinking through for a while. Neville was honest about the positions Draco had articulated before his memories disappeared and both agreed that it was actually helpful to have Draco in this current state as a type of impartial third party who could weigh in.

Draco returned home that night feeling fulfilled and grounded: he felt like he was finding his place again.

The smell of tomato sauce wafted through the house and he smiled, guessing what Hermione was up to.

He was right, and they enjoyed a pasta dinner reminiscent of their first one that night. It didn't feel familiar, but it was comforting all the same. He had to admit that the basil was fantastic.

After dinner, Hermione turned to him, chewing on her lip and playing with her hands a bit, clearly nervous.

"I've been thinking," she told him.

"Shocker," he responded, but gently this time.

"It's hard for me tell you these stories, especially the more… intimate ones, but I agree with you that you ought to know what happened. I talked to the doctor this afternoon about potentially using a pensieve."

Draco perked up, hopeful and excited.

"Since it's been a few days and you seem relatively stable, and you had no trouble with the photographs earlier today, the doctor thought it would be alright, but only if we started with a very short, small memory," she explained.

Draco agreed, happy to be getting anything at this point.

"So I've picked one – it's from that year of friendship, but towards the end of it, just an ordinary night, or at least it started out that way, and I just… I think maybe if you see it you'll understand more."

He could tell that she looked nervous and he reached his hand out to hers to calm her.

"That sounds perfect," he told her.

Hermione slipped from the room and returned a moment later, holding what looked like a shallow serving vessel filled with water; Draco recognized it immediately as a pensieve.

She held her wand to her head and a thin silver wisp emerged, which she placed into the bowl.

"If at any point you start to feel funny or overwhelmed, let me know immediately," she cautioned, and Draco agreed.

They looked at each other for another moment before lowering their heads to the pensieve's surface and slipping into Hermione's memory.

.

 **Around Five Years Earlier**

The present day Draco and Hermione landed in the memory and Draco looked around, trying to determine where they were. He quickly recognized the park Hermione had showed him two days earlier and saw his past self and Hermione walking down a path together. It was in the evening, around twilight. There was still some light outside, but the lamps were just beginning to come on. It was warm outside – not the heat of a late summer, but the warmth of a spring just transitioning.

He and present-day Hermione followed behind their past selves in the memory, knowing that they couldn't be seen. Draco noted their youth, though not much had changed since then. In fact, the Draco in front of him seemed more familiar than the one he had seen in the mirror that morning.

Their past selves walked down the past, chatting animatedly and clearly comfortable with each other. Draco watched their body language and realized how close they must have been by this point.

Past-Draco was whistling a tune and something about it seemed familiar, but before he could place it, past-Hermione cut him off.

"Well, well, well, look who doesn't hate my music after all?" she asked him.

"I can't help it that your crazy muggle music gets stuck in my head," he replied. "Besides, it seemed appropriate, given the birds."

Suddenly, a thunderclap rolled in the distance, and past-Hermione looked at the sky anxiously.

"I told you it was going to rain," she told past-Draco, who rolled his eyes at her.

"It's not going to rain – that's miles away," he told her. "I ran the weather detection spell and everything – I guarantee that you will not feel a single raindrop this evening."

Present day Draco sensed a tone of playfulness and even flirtation in his past self's voice.

"You were always rubbish at that spell," past-Hermione told him, but it was clear that she did so in a teasing way, not in an overly critical tone. "You never have the patience to let it develop."

"Who has twelve minutes to wait for the tip of their wand to change colors? Honestly. I'm sure it will be fine."

Within seconds of him saying that, the clouds above them erupted. The rain didn't begin gradually with a drop here or there, but immediately poured down in a deluge.

Past Draco and Hermione broke into a run and their present selves kept pace behind them, eager to hear the rest of the conversation over the rain.

"Not a single raindrop!" past-Hermione shouted, accusingly.

"Well, I was right – you didn't feel a 'single' one," past-Draco responded with a smirk.

Past-Hermione paused her retreat to glare at him and present-Draco nearly ran into her, but she quickly began running again.

As present-Draco and Hermione followed their past selves through the rain-soaked park, he wondered why they weren't apparating or using magic to keep themselves dry, but recognized that it was a muggle park and they were surrounded by other people – even with the rain pouring down, people were likely to notice a man whipping out a wand and shouting incantations.

He paid more attention to his past self, expecting him to be angry or flustered, and was genuinely surprised to hear him laughing. After a few minutes, past-Draco stopped running, clearly giving up the effort of remaining dry, and just stood on the path, hands on his knees, laughing as hard as he could.

Past-Hermione ran on a few paces before also surrendering to the rain and met his laughter.

"This is absurd!" she shouted. "I'm soaked through!"

"And you think I'm not?" Draco retorted, breaking down into laughter again.

He stood, suddenly adopting the air of a mock-gentleman, and offered Hermione his arm.

"My lady, would you care for a stroll through the park on this fine evening," he asked sarcastically in an aristocratic accent.

Past-Hermione giggled and accepted his arm. They walked casually down the path, laughing as the rain poured down on them. They continued to speak in the fake accents, remarking on Lady Fancyfeather's new drawing room and Sir Plumpbottom's penchant for crumpets.

Present-Draco found himself smiling at the picture and turned to his counterpart, who he also found grinning. They followed their past selves through the park and down a street to what he now knew to be Granger's former flat. Their past selves paused at the doorway to the apartment building.

"Well, thank you sir, for a truly enchanting stroll," past-Hermione told past-Draco with a giggle.

"The pleasure was all mine," he replied, and he took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles.

Suddenly it was as if the world froze and present-Draco knew what was going to happen before it did.

He watched his past self hesitate for only a moment before reaching his other hand up to hold the side of Hermione's face and pull it towards his own. The kiss was brief, lasting only a few moments, but he could tell it was momentous. He watched Hermione step closer to him and tilt her head, giving into the kiss and responding with equal fervor. When they broke apart, they lingered for another moment, their lips inches from each other's, before past-Draco pulled back, removing his hands from Hermione's hand and face.

"I'm so sorry," was all he said, before he turned and jogged away.

Past-Hermione brought her fingers to her lips, stunned by what had transpired, and slipped back into her apartment building, rain still dripping from her jacket and hair.

.

 **Present Day**

Draco and Hermione lifted their heads from the pensieve as the memory ended and neither knew what to say. They both stood for a moment in thought, going over everything they had seen. The memory had really only lasted a little while – maybe fifteen or twenty minutes total, if that. Yet, Draco recognized its significance. After watching it, he had a clearer sense of his friendship with Granger, but also how and why that friendship evolved.

"Was that our first kiss?" Draco asked.

"Yes."

There was another small pause.

"Was it decent?"

"Very much so," Hermione told him with a smile.

"But I apologized afterwards?"

"Yes."

"What happened after that? Is this when we started dating?"

"No," she told him, thinking through the timeline in her mind, "this was a couple of months before we officially started dating. But I think it was the moment when it sort of became inevitable."

Draco opened his mouth to ask another question, but Hermione cut him off.

"Can we be done with questions for tonight? I promise to tell you the rest of the story, and I'll even start tomorrow, but this was just so much for me today, and I'd really like to just relax for a while," she explained.

Draco reluctantly agreed, with one condition: a game of chess.

One game turned into two which somehow ended up at five, and Hermione won four out of five, something she planned to gloat about for at least the next week.

Draco lay in their bed that night, still alone, as Hermione found it odd to sleep beside a man who didn't remember her, and thought through the day. He drifted between sleep and lucidity and the images in his mind blended together. He saw the greenhouses at Malfoy Magical, which morphed into the flowers on Hermione's countertop, which expanded in his idea of what it looked like when he filled her flat with flowers. Picturing her flat brought him to her sofa, which brought him to the picture of the two of them on the sofa and the expression he had found when he made eye contact with the photograph of himself, an expression he still couldn't place or explain. His last thought as he drifted off to sleep was of the tune he had been whistling in the park in Hermione's memory. He could just remember a bit of the melody, and it ran through his dreams the rest of the night.

Dum dum da dum dum dum dum da….


	6. Chapter 5

A/N: These chapters are turning out to be way longer than I anticipated. Oh well! I'm envisioning the whole story will run around 12 chapters, but we'll see as it develops. As always, I don't own anything from the HP universe - all credit (and love) to JKR.

This chapter was tough for me to write, which is why there was a bit of a delay. It features an angry Draco, and I never really enjoy writing angry Draco. I prefer snarky, selfish, somewhat annoying Draco, so I had fun with those parts. But still, I imagine that this situation would leave him pretty frustrated at times, so I thought it was important to address that in the story.

Thank you for reading and please review!

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Chapter 5

The bird sat in the tree branch, considering the scene unfolding on the ground below. She watched plants and bushes shake as someone stomped among them and heard an angry voice muttering sounds of frustration. The bird was slightly peeved, as this garden was her favorite spot to visit and she was particularly looking forward to a peaceful nap that day, but the blonde man who typically took such gentle and painstaking care of the landscape seemed to be in a foul temper.

She flew off, deciding to visit the neighbor's pond instead.

The bird wasn't wrong: the blonde man on the ground was indeed highly frustrated. Had the bird understood English, she would have recognized the list of obscenities that peppered the angry muttering.

"What was she thinking? I can't handle this. What was _I_ thinking? This is absurd."

"Can you just… stand still? Stop moving! I'm trying to trim you for Salazar's sake!"

"Where did those blasted hedgeclippers go again?"

"I'll just use magic. I don't care. Wait, what's the harvesting spell again? Ugh, I should have paid more attention to Sprout."

And on and on it went. Hermione had thought it might do Draco some good to work in the garden by himself for a bit that morning, given that it was Saturday and that's how he typically spent his Saturday mornings, but he didn't see how it was supposed to help.

"The muscle memory might jog other memories!" he lectured the plants, imitating Hermione's voice and exaggerating it. "What the hell is muscle memory anyway? Muscle soreness, I think, is definitely in my future, but I don't see any blasted muscle memory anywhere."

 _Chop, Chop_ went the clippers and small branches and clumps of leaves rained down on Draco, who covered his head protectively.

"This is how you always spend Saturday mornings!" he imitated again, rolling his eyes and ducking as another clump came down. "There is no way I did this every week. I bet I set a spell to do it all and sat somewhere reading or drinking or something. This is absurd."

The plants did not reply, but Draco continued his complaining anyway.

He thought about Granger in her bookstore, remembering her explanation of needing a few hours to finish a project for a client that morning. He felt resentful that she got to be indoors, probably in a comfortable chair, reading ancient texts, while he had to crouch out here miserable in the hot sun.

He had felt hopeful after how well the previous day had gone. He hadn't remembered anything yet, but he had felt empowered touring his company and contributing to active business decisions. Watching Hermione's memory in the pensieve had made him feel more invested in the process of recovering his memories and closer to doing so than ever before. But now, he was sitting here surrounded by plants and bugs and the hot, hot sun and the whole thing just felt like he was wasting time.

Hermione had promised to tell him the next part of their story that day and he was growing impatient. He didn't see why she couldn't just sit down and tell him everything, in spite of the doctor's warnings.

He thought again of what she had showed him the previous night and decided he couldn't wait anymore. The combination of his curiosity at what came next, his boredom with the tedious plant-work, and his exhaustion in the heat finally won out and he threw down his tools with a determined look, before heading inside to the shower and to look for that list of locations and contacts Hermione had made for him a few days earlier.

…

Hermione rolled her eyes as she heard Draco enter the bookstore. She had asked him for three hours: he had given her just slightly over one. There were no other customers in the store and she had been enjoying the peace and quiet.

"I see you've found me," she remarked, not looking up from the manuscript laid out on the desk in front of her.

"You left me your address: even Weasley could have figured out this one."

"What can I do for you, Draco?" she asked, looking up.

"I got bored with the gardening. It's terrible work. I think we'll just pay someone to do it in the future."

Hermione bit her lip, disappointed that his time in his favorite place – the site he considered his sanctuary – hadn't provoked any sense of memory. Nothing seemed to be working and she was worried that he was relying too much on being told other peoples' memories: she wanted him to feel something for himself, but it didn't seem like that was working either.

"I'll send an owl to Neville and ask him to send over a few of the apprentices this evening to tend to the maintenance," she told him.

Draco nodded his assent and looked around.

"So this is where we spent our evenings that first year?" he asked her.

"Yes, though it looked a bit different back then. The popular front section was much larger," she told him, indicating a few bookcases near the front, "and none of these desks were here yet – they came when my restoration business really took off. The chess table is still in the same place, though."

Draco surveyed the room and smiled when his eyes fell on it. He moved over to it and sat down, running his hands over the pieces and willing himself to recognize any of it.

He didn't.

"Care for a game, Granger?" he offered her.

"You just want to topple my winning streak, Draco, and besides, I really need to finish this project," she told him.

"What about the next part of our story? Certainly you can talk while you do whatever it is that you're doing," he said, gesturing to her cleaning tools and wand. "And you promised you'd tell me the next part today."

"I really need to concentrate on this right now. How about I tell you after lunch? And I think we should be trying other things too. I encouraged you to spend time in the garden this morning because I thought it would be helpful and productive and-"

"And boring and draining and exhausting and ridiculous," Draco added.

"And beneficial both mentally and physically," Hermione finished, not taking his bait.

"Fine, Granger, I'll just look around. I can amuse myself, you know," he told her. He started wandering around the store, knowing that as much as she might look like she was concentrating on her work, she was keeping an eye on him in her peripheral vision.

He pretended to look at a shelf of reference books on ancient runes. Knowing she was surreptitiously watching, he switched two of them on the shelf and smirked to himself when he heard her make a small sound of annoyance.

He went to another shelf and started pulling books out an inch on the shelf, seemingly randomly, ruining the perfect line in which the spines had been arranged. He noticed Hermione start to bounce a little on one leg and knew he was close.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he pulled a book out on the shelf until it teetered on the edge. He could hear Hermione suck in her breath. Like a cat playing with a glass, he slowly inched the book out well past its balance point and smirked when it fell to the floor.

"Draco Malfoy, you are a child!" Hermione shouted at him, waving her wand to set everything to rights again. She left the desk she had been working at and stormed over to him.

Now he knew he had her.

"I don't know what you're talking about – you're the one who keeps such a messy shop. I would shut down the whole store today, if I were you," he told her.

"And just spend my day recounting our story to you?" she asked.

"Well, since you mention it," he responded with a smirk.

Hermione rubbed her temples.

"Draco, I have to finish this manuscript. My client wanted it two days ago, but I took time off to figure out our situation. I just need a few more hours. Can't you please just occupy yourself until then?"

He wasn't sure what it was that annoyed him most in that moment: the way she dismissed him so easily, the condescending tone she used to do it, or the sheer fact that he wasn't getting his way. It was probably a combination of the three, made worse by his daily frustration of not knowing the basic details of his life and the exasperating time he had spent in the ridiculous garden that morning.

He stormed out of the bookstore, not even responding to her, and slammed the door on the way out.

…

By the time Hermione arrived home for lunch after completing her work, Draco had calmed down and was managing to hide his annoyance: he was a Slytherin, after all, and there was something he wanted.

He sat patiently on the couch, waiting for Hermione to deliver on her earlier promise, but was soon disappointed.

"Ron stopped into the shop not long after you left and asked if he might pop round for lunch – wanted to chat with you and see how you were doing. He should be here in a few minutes," Hermione told Draco.

"You're joking," Draco replied.

"Nope."

"Then you're barking mad," he responded again.

Hermione rubbed her temples. "I feel like I'm getting there, but no, not that either. Honestly, Draco, Ron's a good friend of yours now and chatting with him might do you some good. I'm going to whip up some sandwiches."

Draco cracked his knuckles and swallowed his frustration. It felt like they were wasting time – he didn't want to garden, or talk to poverty-stricken redheads, or any of this nonsense. He wanted to get his memories back or run out of options and move on with his life.

"You should visit your mother soon, too," Hermione called from the kitchen. "She keeps sending me owls –she's very worried about you."

"I'll stop by tomorrow," Draco promised through gritted teeth.

…

Ron's visit didn't prove to be very helpful, which only increased Draco's irritation. While everyone else Draco encountered seemed to have matured and grown over the years, Ron was just as exhausting and aggravating as ever. He kept asking Draco if he remembered certain events, as if the questions themselves would suddenly jog his memory.

"Do you remember when we went to watch the Quidditch World Cup and the game lasted four days?"

"Do you remember when we babysat Greg's kids and set the kitchen on fire?"

"Do you remember when we tricked Harry into going all in at that poker night when we knew Ernie had a better hand?"

"Of course I don't bloody remember it!" Draco finally exploded, before storming back to his room. Not caring any longer about Hermione's reaction, he pointed his wand towards the walls and changed them to a dark, inky green.

Hermione ushered Ron out with apologies and failed explanations. She considered going after Draco, but instead settled herself down in the living room with a magazine and a glass of wine. She knew her husband, and knew the best course was to let him cool down on his own. She also was admittedly exhausted and unsure of what to try next.

…

About an hour after Ron left, Draco stalked out of the bedroom and down the hallway, his irritation only growing when he found his supposedly loving wife reading a magazine. He took a moment to compose himself. He knew shouting would get him nowhere.

"Okay, Granger, I've had a long day, and all I'm asking for is the next part of the story. Nothing else seems to be bloody working and I think it's the best shot we have."

Hermione chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip, but ultimately agreed with him. Their story was the only thing that seemed to be reaching him and might be their best shot at getting his memories back. Until she could think of a better idea, she would have to keep going with this.

She hadn't been intentionally stalling him all day, but if she was honest with herself, she might have encouraged the delays. It's just that the next part of the story was so personal and she felt so vulnerable telling it to him.

Now, however, she knew she had little choice.

"Okay, Draco, okay. Just please recognize that it's awkward for me to tell you all of this," she told him. He nodded, barely concealing his impatience.

Hermione thought about where to start.

"So, you saw our first kiss," she began. "And after that, nothing really happened. We didn't talk about it and just pretended like it never happened. I tried to address it a couple of times, but you just switched the subject: it was clear to me that you regretted it or wanted to make it disappear, so I just sort of went along with it, because that was better than losing you altogether. So everything was sort of just status quo, until a couple of months later, which is where I'll start today."

She took a deep breath.

.

 **Five Years Earlier**

Hermione was working in her bookstore, poring over a scroll Draco had found for her during one of his recent travels. She could decode about a quarter of the text and would need to perform complicated spellwork to illuminate more of the writing. She was in a foul temper, too, after fighting with Ginny at lunch. Ginny had tried once again to confront Hermione over her relationship with Draco, explaining that she fielded questions about their relationship daily and thought their decision not to date made absolutely no sense.

"It's my life, Gin," Hermione had told her, an answer that they both knew wasn't an answer. She hadn't told Ginny about the kiss, mostly out of embarrassment, seeing as how Draco clearly regretted it.

Now, she talked to the scroll and said the things she wished she could say to the annoying redhead, who (annoyingly) happened to also be one of her best friends.

"Oh, I'm so sorry that random people ask you if I'm dating Draco, Ginny. What a tough life."

"Yes, it must be really difficult to just say no when they ask you – it is one syllable, after all."

"Why Ginny, I didn't even think about how my life decisions might be inconveniencing you. I'll keep that in mind the next time I decide to completely alter my life's course."

"Oh no, Ginny, I never realized –"

This last response was cut short when she heard the bell above the door ring, signaling the entrance of a potential customer. Her first thought was that it was Draco, but she knew he was in New Zealand and wouldn't be back until the following Monday.

She looked up and saw Lee Jordan striding to her.

She smiled at his sudden appearance and welcomed him into her shop.

"Why, Lee, it's been a long time! What brings you in here today?"

Lee explained that he was moving back to London after working abroad and had noticed her bookshop a few days earlier as he toured possible flats. He had been in the area that day and decided to pop in.

"It's excellent to see you," she told him.

"I agree," he told her with a smile. The two chatted for a few minutes about what they were up to and what was going on in their lives. After a slight pause, Lee started in on a new line of conversation.

"So I ran into Ginny yesterday, and we were talking about you. I was under the impression that you were dating someone –"

"Nope, single as a bird," Hermione replied instinctively, more in response to the sore subject of people asking if she was dating Draco than out of an actual desire to date Lee. She instantly realized, though, that the response made her sound desperate, and she regretted it. _Ugh. Was "single as a bird" even an expression?_

Lee smiled at her. "Well, that's good news to me. I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me when I'm back in town in a few weeks – the Cannons are playing the Harpies and I have great seats."

To be honest, a day watching Quidditch sounded like the most boring date imaginable, but it had been a while since she had been out with anyone, and Hermione was flattered to be asked. And Lee was good-looking and smart – really, this could turn out ok.

Before she responded, Draco's face popped suddenly into her mind, but she suppressed it. They were just friends, after all, and he had made it clear that that was all he wanted them to be.

"Sure," she told him with a smile, and they made plans to meet on a Saturday afternoon.

…

When Draco returned home from New Zealand, he invited Hermione over for dinner and the two chatted over risotto and wine. Draco showed her pictures from his trip and explained what he had seen and collected.

"Oh, and before I forget, I got us tickets to the opera for Saturday next week – it's that show they cancelled in January. I know you were disappointed you never got to see it," he told her with a grin.

She felt something drop in her stomach, realizing it was the same day as her date. Surely this wouldn't be a big deal, right? They were friends. They were _friends_.

"Oh, actually I have plans that Saturday," she told him, avoiding eye contact.

"Tell me you're not working another weekend shift – I thought that's why you had Penelope helping out," he replied.

"No, no, it's not that. I actually have a date," she said softly.

There was a moment's pause before Draco responded cooly: "A date? That's exciting. Who with?"

"Lee Jordan," she told him, keeping her tone neutral. "We're going to a Quidditch match."

"Well that sounds fun. I hope it goes well." His tone was pleasant, but she noticed he wasn't making eye contact with her. A heavy awkwardness had settled between them.

"Look, Granger, I'm wiped from my trip – mind if we call it a night a little early?" he asked suddenly. She suspected his sudden shift had to do with her announcement, but this also wasn't totally unusual – they often ended a night early after Draco had had a long day of travel. They had finished their meal and her wine glass was empty – it was a natural time to end the evening. She didn't want to read too much into it.

"Sure. Maybe we'll do something later this week?" she asked.

"Of course. I'll send you an owl," he promised her.

…

But no owls came that week, and the ones Hermione sent received no response.

It wasn't unusual for them to go a day or so without talking, but it was unprecedented for him not to return her owl. By Wednesday, she was peeved. She sent a message asking what was wrong, but received no reply. On Friday, she tried calling him via floo, but he wasn't home. She sent another owl. By the next Monday, she was officially worried. For anyone else, this wouldn't be a big deal at all, but she knew Draco, and she knew something was wrong. And it wasn't just that – it was that if something was wrong for him, it was wrong for her too. She couldn't function knowing he was hurt or upset, as pathetic as it sounded. She tried not to over-analyze what that meant. She continued to try to call and reach him via owl that week, but nothing worked.

She finally decided to muster her courage and stop by his apartment Friday after work – the night before her date and almost two weeks since they'd last spoken. She knew he'd be home (it really was pathetic how well she knew his schedule by this point) and she would finally get answers.

She tried the floo first, but he had blocked his entrance. Now she was both worried and annoyed.

She apparated to right outside his door and knocked firmly.

"Not home," she heard from the other side of the door. She rolled her eyes.

"Clearly," she replied. "Let me in, Draco."

"Go away, Granger, I'm busy."

It was rude to do so, but she pulled out her wand and used alohomora to enter: she knew she was on a list of people who had access to his wards.

"That's breaking and entering, you know," he told her as she walked in and slammed the door.

"You don't talk to me for nearly two weeks, don't respond to any of my owls, and that's all you have to say to me?!" she shouted at him. She hadn't realized until now how angry she was at him, and now that she knew he was ok, anger overtook worry as her dominant emotion.

She looked around for the target of her sudden rage and found him sitting at a barstool in the kitchen. It was the man she had gotten to know well over the last year, and yet what she saw alarmed her. His hair was messy, his normally clean-shaven face scruffy, and his clothes rumpled. When he turned to her, she saw dark circles under his eyes. Her anger melted away.

"Draco, what's wrong?" she asked softly.

Draco turned back away from her and lifted the glass in front of him to his lips. She suspected it contained firewhiskey, which she knew he only turned to when he was truly feeling low.

"What happened?" she tried again.

"It's not anything that happened," he told her quietly. "It's what's happening tomorrow."

"My date?" Hermione asked, already knowing the answer.

Draco was silent, but nodded after a moment.

Hermione expected to feel thrilled by his jealousy, or at least happy that he was interested in her that way. Instead, she only felt angry, and the emotion welled inside her again, surprising her for the second time that night.

"You've had a year," she told him quietly, and he turned to face her, his expression showing nothing.

"You've had a year to say something or do something, and you've done nothing," she continued. "If you felt something for me, you had more than enough time to act on it."

Still Draco didn't reply.

"We even kissed for goodness sake! And you just pretended like it never happened! Was I supposed to wait around forever for you to decide you liked me? Was I supposed to just turn into a spinster waiting for you to have your adventures before settling for me?"

Draco was still silent and Hermione felt like she would explode.

"This isn't fair, you know. You can't punish me for going on a date with someone. We're friends, Draco, friends, and that's what we've both chosen. You can't be mad at me for this. This isn't fair." She was rambling now, spiraling with nothing to stop her.

When he still didn't respond, she moved to the door. His silence was killing her.

"Forget this, and forget you," she told him.

She had almost reached the door when she heard him reply, speaking at a volume just above a whisper.

"I'm in love with you."

She froze, not believing what she had heard. "What did you say?" she asked, her back still turned toward him.

"I said I'm in love with you," he replied, a little louder this time, and with a confidence that made her heart race.

She turned to face him now.

"You're in love with me?" she asked again.

"Yes," he replied.

And she spun on her heel and stormed out the door.

…

 **Present Day**

Hermione paused in her telling of the story, preparing to continue with what happened next, but she was interrupted by Draco.

His temper had been building all day. First, Granger had exiled him to that garden while she went off and worked. Worked! While her husband was experiencing the most difficult mental time of his life! Next, she had invited the most ingratiating wizard on the planet over for lunch and let him launch absurd questions at Draco for nearly an hour. She had stalled and stalled on telling him this story – _his story_ – and now he wasn't even sure he wanted to hear it. He had just heard about his past self falling in love with someone and even being the first to admit that love – things that he couldn't even fathom happening in his life, and that was the response he received? He couldn't process the reality of everything sinking in at once. And so he finally exploded.

"You stormed out?!" he shouted at her.

"Yes, but –"

He cut her off again.

"You really are the most ungrateful, inconsiderate piece of work, do you know that?"

"Excuse me?" Hermione replied, confused and worried.

"Do you have any idea how big of a deal that would have been for me that day? To tell you I was in love with you? Do you even get how huge that would have been for me?"

"Of course I do!" Hermione replied, her volume rising to meet his. "You're my husband and my best friend, of course I know how big of a deal that was. _I know you_. If you'd just let me explain it –"

"No, I don't want to hear your pathetic explanations. And you don't 'know me!' Not one bit."

They were both standing now, shouting at each other.

"I know you better than anyone else on this planet," Hermione told him confidently.

"Or you've deluded yourself into thinking so," Draco spat back at her. "I don't know how I could possibly have forgiven you after you stormed out like that. Maybe that's why I lost my memory last week – maybe it's the universe giving me a second chance to get the better life that I actually deserve with someone who actually loves and appreciates me!"

Hermione was stung into silence and Draco could read the hurt in her eyes. He knew he had crossed a line, but he didn't care.

Hermione was silent for a long moment, but finally replied in a low voice.

"We don't do this, Draco. We don't fight like this. We don't raise our voices to each other."

"Of course we fight – we're Hermione and Draco. You can't tell me we never argue," he replied, rolling his eyes.

"Not like this," Hermione told him, holding back tears. "I don't know this side of you – you're not my husband." She practically whispered the last line and looked at her hands, avoiding eye contact.

"Thank God for that," Draco told her, before he decided to give her a taste of her own medicine, storming out the door of their house. In the silence that followed, Hermione realized it was the second door he had slammed on her that day.

…

Draco sat at his favorite bar, which fortunately was still open and looked almost exactly as he remembered it. That was the good thing about pubs: they seldom changed. He swirled the firewhiskey in his glass and stared into its amber depths. Granger wasn't wrong about that: it was his choice when he was at his lowest.

He felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to see a familiar face, though aged a few years: Pansy Parkinson. He smiled at his old friend and invited her to sit down for a chat.

They exchanged pleasantries and caught up, chatting amicably for a few minutes.

"I heard about your memories," Pansy told him sympathetically. "Greg told me about it."

Draco explained what had happened and his frustrations of the previous few days.

Pansy was silent for a moment, before looking up cautiously.

"Draco, do you think that there is any chance this is some sort of sign? Sort of like a do-over? Like maybe this is our chance?" she asked.

He heard hopefulness in her voice, but also a tinge of manipulation. Still the same old Pansy he knew, using any circumstance possible to advance her own personal agenda. He almost smiled at the familiarity of it all.

"No, Pansy, I don't think so," he told her.

Pansy momentarily looked disappointed, but her face quickly regained its mask of confidence and poise.

"Well, if you change your mind, let me know," she told him, and she slipped him a scrap of paper with her address on it before sauntering away.

Draco looked at the scrap of paper. Suddenly, someone sat down beside him and Draco shoved the scrap into his pocket, out of sight. He turned to see Harry Potter sitting next to him.

"What are you drinking?" Potter asked. "Firewhiskey?" He called the bartender over and ordered a second for Draco and one for himself.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" Draco asked suspiciously.

"Oh, I was just out in the area," Harry said casually.

Draco rolled his eyes.

"You're 28 and still can't even lie decently? Bloody Gryffindors."

Harry grinned. "Guess not. Hermione told me you were upset and I figured you would come here. It's still one of our favorite spots to grab a drink."

"Our? As in, you and I grab drinks here?" Draco asked him.

"Yes, obviously," Harry replied. "And I know you're not going to do anything with Pansy's address, by the way."

Draco narrowed his eyes at him. "How do you know I won't?"

"Because I know you, Draco," Harry explained patiently. "You're like my fourth best friend. You're short-tempered, arrogant, and a total snob sometimes, but you're also loyal to a fault."

Draco considered his words. He wasn't sure how to take the "fourth best friend" label – he was vaguely insulted, but also weirdly flattered? He'd set that one aside for now. Short-tempered, arrogant, total snob – all of that sounded accurate. He also knew Harry was right about that last thing: his loyalty. Deep in his heart he knew he had never planned to do anything with the address. He took it out of his pocket, crumbled it up, and tossed it into the trash can behind the bar.

Harry took a sip of his firewhiskey.

"So what brings you to the Tipsy Phoenix tonight, Malfoy?"

"Fight with Granger," Draco mumbled in response.

Harry nodded, waiting for him to continue.

"She was telling me the story of the night I told her I loved her. You know the story? Apparently I put it all out there, like everything out there, and she just… left. She just left. Just like that. And I just can't forgive her for it, somehow. I can't understand how I forgave her for it then, either." Draco wasn't sure why he was telling all of this to Harry Potter, but he needed someone, and Potter had bought him a drink. And he was his fourth best friend, apparently.

"Ah, yes, I love that story," Harry said with a grin.

"Well I'm delighted to see that you look so happy remembering such a painful night for me," Draco replied bitterly.

Harry laughed.

"I'm smiling because I know what came next. And it happened here, actually," he told Draco, gesturing to the bar around them.

"Here? What are you talking about, Potter?"

Harry stood up and looked around, as if calculating something. He moved three barstools to his left, gesturing for Draco to follow him. Draco, annoyed but curious, did as Harry asked.

"I was sitting right here, having a drink with Ginny and her coworkers after a long week," he told Draco.

.

 **Five Years Earlier**

Harry sat at the bar, sipping his drink and listening to his wife's co-workers prattle on about their "exhausting" week at their design company. He loved his girlfriend, but wished that she worked with more interesting people.

Suddenly, a familiar face entered his vision and he smiled as he recognized his best friend, Hermione Granger. That smile faded somewhat when he took in her apparent rage. Hermione was never good at hiding emotions. Now, her hair was somehow extra frizzy, her eyes had a glare that could turn men to stone, and he could tell even from a distance that she was grinding her teeth. She spotted Harry and stormed up to him, shouting an order ("double firewhiskey, and make it quick") to the bartender without so much as a please.

"You'll never believe what that asshole did," she told Harry, settling into the empty stool next to him.

"Which asshole?" That was his first question.

"Draco."

"What did he do?" Harry asked, trying to hide his slight grin. Draco and Hermione's "relationship" was a constant source of humor for him. They were two of the smartest people he knew, but completely dense concerning their true feelings.

"He's gone and told me he's in love with me," she told Harry incredulously.

"How dare he," Harry responded sarcastically.

"It's just that… I don't know… why on earth would he… it's just like a terrible thing to do, you know?" she replied, struggling to pin down why she was so angry.

"Oh yes, quite terrible for a man to tell the woman he's been in love with for nearly a year that he's in love with her. Shall I call Kingsley? Sic some aurors on him?"

Hermione glared at Harry and stood to leave.

"I should have known better than to come here. It's not like I gave up my entire seventh year of education to help you defeat the most evil wizard of all time. Heaven forbid you take my problems seriously."

Harry rolled his eyes and grabbed her arm before she could leave.

"Ok, Hermione, sit back down and I'll try to be more sympathetic. I'm just having trouble understanding what you're upset about here."

"He told me he _loved me_ , Harry," she said. Harry blinked, still confused as to what she was upset about.

"And he does," he told her.

"No he doesn't!" Hermione protested. "He can't! That's…. that's ridiculous! Absurd! And how would you know, anyway?" she sputtered.

"Honestly, Hermione," Harry said slowly, afraid of enraging her again, "everyone knows."

"What?"

"Literally everyone in the wizarding world knows that he's in love with you. And that you're in love with him."

"I'm not in love with him," Hermione spat back.

"Sure you are. I was just talking to Ginny about it yesterday when we were at lunch with Katie Bell and Lee."

"Lee Jordan?" she asked.

"Yes – Lee and his girlfriend Katie. Lee and Ginny work together and are pretty good friends these days."

Hermione struggled to put everything together and suddenly looked up to glare at her supposed best girlfriend. She found Ginny nervously chewing on her lip, watching Hermione's conversation with Harry and trying to make sure there was at least one witch or wizard between herself and Hermione for protection.

When they made eye contact, Ginny tried to casually stroll over, feigning innocence.

"Hey there, bestie!" she said, in a pleasant "please-don't-murder-me" sort of way.

"Good evening, Ginevra," Hermione responded coolly. Everyone in the immediate vicinity leaned farther away from Hermione at this remark. It was well known that Hermione Granger got more formal when she was angry. Harry reached for his wand, just in case.

"How's it going?" Ginny asked timidly.

"Oh, you know, just swell. I had a date planned for tomorrow with a man that I just learned is in a serious committed relationship and I have the feeling that the whole thing was some sort of set-up. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" Hermione asked, in a tone that demonstrated she had learned something from Dolores Umbridge in her fifth year at Hogwarts after all.

"It was the only way!" Ginny finally confessed. "The only way to get you two idiots to recognize that you love each other!"

"How do you know he loves me?" Hermione spat back.

"Everyone knows!" Ginny replied, echoing Harry's earlier answer.

By now, they were talking loudly enough that basically everyone in the bar could hear them. Hermione noticed they were all watching, too. She scanned the room, and everyone started to nod.

"Does everyone here know that Draco Malfoy is in love with me?" she asked to the bar.

There was a moment's pause before roughly forty wizards and witches, many of whom Hermione didn't know at all, started nodding in unison.

"And we also know that you love him too," Harry contributed, more confidently this time.

The bar nodded again.

"But I don't… I can't… it's just… oh my God I think I love him Harry," Hermione said, looking up in a panic.

Harry patted her on the back. "It can't be easy to realize you love a Malfoy. Don't worry – I'll talk you through it."

"I'm in love with him, Harry." She still spoke in a tone of shock.

"Yes, I think you've been in love with him for a long time," Harry replied softly.

Hermione was suddenly on her feet, frantically grabbing for her bag and throwing the money to pay for her untouched drink down on the bar.

"Where are you going?" Harry shouted as she raced for the door.

"I'm in love with Draco Malfoy, and apparently everyone in the wizarding world knows except for him!" she shouted back, before disappearing through the door.

Harry turned back to his drink, pleased that at least one interesting thing had happened at this happy hour. He reached over and slid Hermione's glass over to his spot – couldn't let that go to waste.

…

 **Present Day**

After Harry finished telling Draco his memory of that night at the bar, both sat quietly for a moment in thought.

"How did you know we loved each other?" Draco asked Harry.

"It's hard to explain, but somehow it was the most obvious thing in the world," Harry told him honestly. "Any time we went anywhere as a group, you always had your eyes on her, not out of a weird overprotectiveness, but just out of an unshakeable interest. When anything big happened in your life, she was the first person you told. Hermione started telling you things before Ron and I – and sometimes told you things that she never even got around to telling us at all. You two just got each other somehow – it was annoying to hang out with the two of you because you seemed to be able to communicate without even speaking."

"And you didn't have any issues with it? I mean, you and I weren't exactly friends after the war. We cooperated in the end, but were never chums."

"When you came back into our lives, you were a different person than we remembered. Still the same in some important and fun ways – still extremely competitive, still talented on a broom, still too full of yourself, but you were different in some pretty monumental ways too. You saw Hermione as a person in a way that I don't think you had when we were children. You respected her, admired her, valued her – and it was clear to all of us from the start."

Harry sipped his drink and Draco thought again of those two years he spent traveling the world before reconnecting with Hermione. So much had happened during that time.

"I can't seriously be friends with Ron, though," he finally told Harry. "That much I just still can't believe."

Harry laughed at that.

"You're actually not that wrong on that one. You guys are definitely friends, but he still drives you nuts most of the time. All of us, really. But hey, he's family."

"So I take it you married the Weaslette?" Draco asked.

Harry nodded.

"About four years ago. You were one of my groomsmen, actually."

Draco's eyebrows shot up on his forehead.

"And I was your best man at your wedding," Harry told him. "You weren't my best man, though – Ron got that honor."

"I get it – I am your fourth best friend, after all," Draco replied with a smirk.

"Exactly," Harry confirmed.

They finished their drinks and continued to catch up, Draco hearing more about their weekly poker nights and Harry and Ginny's growing family (two kids with a third on the way). At some point, they even ordered food, and didn't even notice as the hours passed.

After a while, Draco looked at the clock behind the bar and realized how late it was.

"Well, I guess it's time to face the music," he told Harry.

Harry agreed and the two paid their tabs and got ready to leave.

"Hey Potter," Draco started. "Thanks for tonight. For telling me all that stuff and for drinking with me. And thanks for… you know… for all that stuff in the past."

"Anything for my fourth best friend," Harry told him with a grin.

…

When Draco got home, the lights were out and the door to the guestroom was closed. He guessed that Hermione was asleep and he tried to move as quietly as possible, so as not to make her even angrier.

He hung up his coat and went to set his wallet on the counter when he found the pensieve sitting on the table, a memory clearly floating in its depths.

Next to it, there was a note from Hermione that read "Watch this when you get home, you jackass." Well, he supposed that was fair.

He wasn't sure what we was about to watch and considered the pensieve carefully. Was Granger bent on revenge? Was he about to watch a reel of embarrassing moments? Memories of him hurting himself in weird ways? Or a gross memory of Ron Weasley or something like that?

No, that was a Slytherin move, and Granger was decidedly not a Slytherin.

Still, he was nervous as he lowered his face to the pool and descended into her memory.

.

 **Five Years Earlier**

The first thing he noticed was the bar he had just come from, but he didn't get too good of a look, because this was Hermione's memory and she was running out the door. He heard her call back to Potter, the same line Harry had told him a few hours earlier. He was watching the night he had told Hermione he loved her, and apparently was about to get the rest of the story.

He traveled along as Hermione apparated to his past self's flat and stood with her as she unlocked the door without even knocking. She ran into the flat, not even bothering to shut the door, and Draco followed her inside. His past self wasn't at the bar stool any longer and he watched Granger look for him. She found him on the balcony, leaning on the railing with his head in his hands.

He watched his past self hear her come in and stand up suddenly, turning around in momentary alarm.

There was a long pause as the two of them stood on the balcony, just looking at each other. Hermione was breathing heavily, winded by her sudden realization and quick journey. Draco's past self looked weary and devastated, but also hopeful somehow.

"You're in love with me," Granger told past-Draco.

"I am," Draco confirmed.

"I'm in love with you too," she told him.

"You are?" Draco asked, his expression betraying how much he needed that to be true.

Hermione nodded furiously.

"I am, and apparently everyone in the whole bloody world knew it but me," she told him, before rushing into his arms.

Draco felt like a bit of an interloper as he watched the embrace, but he couldn't bring himself to turn away. He watched his past self kiss Hermione with a passion he could not remember ever feeling in his life. Hermione wrapped her arms around past-Draco's neck and kissed him deeply. Past-Draco lifted her off the ground and spun her in a circle, a move that Draco the observer would never have guessed that he would have ever tried in real life.

The scene faded as the portion of the memory Hermione had shared with him ended, and he clutched desperately to it, wishing for more time.

He watched the whole memory twice more, memorizing every detail. He willed himself to remember it somehow, to fill in details that only he could know, but nothing came to mind.

Finally, after his third viewing, he decided to leave well enough alone and go to bed. He got changed, washed his face, and settled into bed in the bedroom he and his wife used to share.

He looked at the walls, thought for a moment, and changed them back to the beachy shade Granger was so fond of. He had forgiven her, just as he had five years earlier. Now he just hoped that she would forgive him as well.

.

.

Additional author's note: I had so much fun with that Harry scene, and I never anticipated it being that fun. But the "fourth best friend" line popped into my head and I couldn't stop making jokes with it. Hope you enjoyed it! And I skipped writing the conversation with Ron because he just bores me so much. Ugh. You get it, right?


	7. Chapter 6

Author's Note: I still don't own any of the HP franchise. A big thank you to RufusReads and a guest reviewer for leaving reviews - it helps to keep me writing :-)

I had fun writing this chapter! I hope you like it. It feels like the story is filling in on its own and I'm excited to see how it turns out.

Chapter 6

Draco woke the next morning with a headache from the previous evening's drinks and a fear of how his wife would react to seeing him after the fight that drove him to consume those drinks.

When he got to the kitchen, however, he found the answer to both problems. Hermione had left a bottle of pepper-up potion on the counter (his favorite hangover cure), as well as a note explaining that she had gone to work that day.

 _Draco,_

 _Drink this and you'll feel better. I've gone to work today and I thought you could go to your mother's. She really wants to see you and I think I need a day away, to be honest._

 _I'll see you tonight._

 _Love,_

 _Hermione_

Draco read the note and marveled at how kind she could be in spite of her well-deserved rage at the way he had behaved the previous day. He supposed that that was what real marriage was, and he was envious of that kind of confident relationship. He looked a moment longer at the "love" she left him at the bottom, finding that it didn't make him gag the way he expected it to. For some reason, he wanted to hang on to the note, and he didn't want to think about why. He looked for a place to stash it and settled on his work bag, since it seemed the place least likely for anyone else to find it.

After tucking the note away, he showered and prepared to floo to his mother's. He took an extra dose of pepper-up potion, just to prepare for what he was sure was bound to be an overwhelming day.

…

When Draco arrived at the Manor, Narcissa immediately pulled him into an enormous embrace and it caught him off-guard; he couldn't remember the last time his mother had been this affectionate.

She offered him breakfast, which he accepted even though he had eaten two slices of toast at home, and the two settled into comfortable chairs afterwards in his mother's favorite sitting room. He looked around and realized that the décor had changed somewhat: the colors were far lighter now and many of the Malfoy portraits had been moved. He wondered if this had occurred before or after Lucius's death.

"It's so good to see you," his mother announced for the fifteenth time. "I've been talking to Hermione every day, but I didn't want to sit down with you until she thought it was a good idea – I know how fragile your mind is."

Draco rolled his eyes at that last remark, but bit his tongue and sipped his tea.

"Hermione told me about you visiting your company and how well that went! And she said that the two of you had a nice walk in that park you like, though you didn't remember it."

"The two of you have gotten close," Draco remarked with a clear tone of surprise, "I guess incidents like this always bring people together."

"Hermione and I have been close for years, Draco," Narcissa replied.

"Really? I would have thought you would have rejected our relationship from the outset."

Narcissa offered him a sad smile.

"I don't blame you for thinking that and, honestly, I was just as surprised as you were, but you brought her over a few months after you started dating and we just immediately hit it off. It turns out we have a lot in common – we both love watercolor and we even took a class together one summer. We both love music from the 1960s and 1970s, which used to always make you groan and roll your eyes. We'd listen for hours to Fleetwood Mac, the Carpenters, the Beatles, even Abba!"

Draco rolled his eyes as she was speaking and she pursed her lips in response.

"And we both loved you, which was honestly all that mattered in the end," Narcissa finished.

Draco sipped his tea, taking all of this in.

"And, of course, when you brought her over to meet me you hadn't spoken to us in two years, so I was willing to entertain anything to have a relationship with you again."

At this, Draco spit some of his tea back into his cup by accident, earning him an aggrieved glare from his mother.

"I hadn't spoken to you in two years?" he asked.

"No, not since the incident with the graphorn," Narcissa told him.

 _Graphorn…_ Draco thought, trying to remember where he had heard of a graphorn recently. Suddenly, Goyle's postcard swam back to his memory. It was after killing the graphorn that he had entered into that weird period of frustration.

"What happened with the graphorn? I know I killed one, but what did that have to do with you?" Draco asked.

"It… triggered something," Narcissa explained thoughtfully. "It was a moment of impact for you. One night in November, you turned up at our house without explaining you were coming over. You stormed into the living room and…" she faltered, struggling for words.

"It's difficult to explain this part – it's difficult to revisit that conversation," she told Draco, with tears welling in her eyes.

"Hermione has shown me a couple of short memories in a pensieve and I've done alright with it – do you want to try that?" Draco offered. He was desperate to hear this conversation and knew that it was a significant piece of the story he was putting together.

"I think I'd prefer that," Narcissa told him. She had a house-elf (well-dressed, Draco noted, recognizing again the impact Hermione had on everyone around her) fetch her the family pensieve and carefully extracted a silver wisp of memory with her wand.

She offered the pensieve to Draco, but stood to leave.

"I think I'd rather not be here when you watch it," she explained. "It's a painful memory for me, and I also don't wish to see your father today. I'll be out on the terrace when you finish."

Draco nodded in understanding and watched her leave the room. He took a deep breath before plunging into the pensieve's depths.

.

 **Roughly Six and a Half Years Earlier**

Draco entered the memory and found his mother sitting in a comfortable chair before a roaring fire, reading a book and sipping tea. He could tell from the surroundings and air that it was winter. When he looked out the window and saw snow, he knew he was right.

He watched Narcissa sip her tea and turn a page. Suddenly, his younger self burst into the room. He looked a bit rough around the edges: his hair was a touch too long, his stubble indicated that he hadn't shaved in a day or two, and the mud on his boots signaled that he had been out in the field before coming here.

Narcissa looked up with a start and quickly set her tea and book on the table next to her, rising to see what was the matter.

"Draco, darling, what is it? Is everything alright?"

Past-Draco's chest huffed, as if he had run through the entire manor looking for her.

Lucius entered from another door, clearly alerted to the commotion.

"What is going on?" Lucius asked.

"I'm not sure," Narcissa explained, eyeing Draco warily.

"I need to talk to you," Draco told them with an audible shake in his voice.

"What has happened, Draco?" Narcissa asked.

Past-Draco reached into a bag that he had brought with him and produced two impressive looking horns. He held them in his hands and looked at them as if they were precious.

"Do you know what these are?" he asked his parents.

Neither ventured a guess.

"These are the horns of a graphorn. I just killed one a few days ago in the mountains of Hungary."

"Well done, Draco! That is an impressive kill," Lucius told him proudly.

His son stared at him incredulously. Not noticing Draco's expression, or not caring, Lucius continued to prattle on.

"A graphorn? Those are exceedingly rare. You could make a fortune on the horns alone."

"I'm not here to talk about the graphorn," Draco said quietly. Narcissa held her hand to her mouth. She had never seen her son like this. His normal smooth, controlled demeanor seemed to have slipped away and he looked unsteady. She could tell that the son she had taught to hide all emotion was nearly overflowing with it now.

Lucius started speaking again about the rarity and value of graphorns, but Narcissa reached out and placed a hand on his arm, stopping him.

"What do you want to talk about?" she asked her son, dreading the answer.

There was a moment of quiet while Lucius and Narcissa waited for Draco to explain. His present self waited too, mesmerized by the vision in front of him. He had never seen himself so upset… so raw.

"I spent weeks hunting this graphorn. I studied how to track it, approach it, and kill it. I read books, consulted experts in magical creatures, and spoke to local Hungarians about the best way to capture it. Before I headed to the mountain, an old local man took me aside. He told me that if I killed a graphorn, I would regret it for the rest of my life."

Draco paused here and Lucius awkwardly tried to fill the silence.

"It's only an animal, Draco."

"Do you know what happens when you kill a graphorn, father?" Draco asked, making eye contact with the patriarch. His eyes were bloodshot and intense.

"Besides becoming exceedingly wealthy?" Lucius joked awkwardly, trying to cut the tension.

"I was warned by a few people, though none could give me a clear explanation of what would happen, because I guess it's different for everyone. When you kill a graphorn, you see your greatest regrets and greatest fears before your very eyes. It's the graphorn's instinctual last act before it dies, to cast that spell of sorts on its killer. That's why so few are ever killed – and why so few who kill them ever talk about it. I learned the hard way."

"No," Lucius stumbled, trying to avoid eye contact, "I had never heard that. It must not have been pleasant."

Draco snorted at the understatement and gazed down at the horns in his hands again.

"It seemed to last ages, but really was over in a matter of minutes. It was so overwhelming that it took me days to process everything I had seen, to understand what it all meant to me. And, in the end, there was one connecting thread. You."

"Us?" Narcissa asked quietly.

"You," Draco told her, looking more confidently at both of his parents. "When I killed the graphorn, I saw my entire childhood. I saw you teaching me hatred and violence. I saw you permitting the murder of my professor above my dining room table, simply because of the subject she taught. I saw you torturing my classmates, children just like I was. I watched you sign me up to murder my own headmaster, just to advance your own reputations. I saw you raising me in cowardice and fear. And I realized, then, what my greatest regret was."

Neither of his parents knew what to say, so he plowed on.

"I've spent my entire life regretting how easily I went along with what you taught me. I'm not dumb – do you know that? I was one of the smartest wizards in my year at Hogwarts and I show real promise. I've always been sharp – I know you have to know that. And yet, I just went along with it. Because it was easy, because it was right in front of me, because you were my parents for Salazar's sake."

Narcissa reached up and brushed tears from her eyes.

"Draco, I'm so –"

But he cut her off, full of strength and eager to finish his speech. "And I realized in that moment that my greatest fear is that I never will stand up to you, never will break free from this unforgivable cycle of violence and hate. So I've come here today to tell you that I'm done. I'm going to use this as a turning point in my life. I came here to tell you that, from this point forward, my life is going to depart from the trajectory you had planned for me, and from both of you altogether. I realized today that I can't get past this. I don't forgive you – I can't forgive you – for making my childhood one of violence and hate, and I refuse to be a part of this chain any longer."

Lucius was growing angry at his son's insolence, but Narcissa simply sunk to the couch in shock. Present-Draco watched his past self with admiration and longing: he wished more than anything that he could remember what this moment felt like.

Past-Draco slipped the graphorn horns back into his bag and turned to his parents once more. He turned specifically to Lucius for his parting words.

"I did have one bright moment on that mountain, right after the vision ended. I've heard my entire life that I'm just like my father, and I've always taken pride in that fact, but on that mountain Hungary, I realized that, at my core, I'm nothing like you, and that that's the best thing about myself. It's the thing I'm going to hold onto as I rebuild my life. Goodbye, father, you will never see me again."

Draco didn't say goodbye to Narcissa. He picked up his bag and left the room. Present-Draco watched his mother collapse into sobs as the memory drew to a close and he lifted his head from the pensieve.

When he emerged from the memory, it took him a moment to regain his bearings. He thought back on the postcard he had sent Greg, explaining that he didn't plan to pursue a graphorn again, and now he understood why. He remembered the plaques lining the walls of his office, celebrating his ethical treatment of magical creatures, and realized that all of it stemmed from that day on the mountainside, the day that he committed to finding a better way to build a life for himself.

He still didn't remember the past eight years, but he was now more confident than ever that he wanted to: he wanted to stay here, in this life he had built for himself, and with the people who he had loved and who had loved him along the way.

…

Draco found his mother on the terrace, sipping her tea and looking out to the yard. When she heard him join her, she set down her teacup and looked at him anxiously.

"That was… intense," Draco told her.

"I know, my darling, and I can't tell you how sorry I am for it," Narcissa replied. "I should have known it was coming, that someday it would all catch up to us. I tried to tell you that day and several more times over the next few years, but you wouldn't hear me out – I am so, so, SO sorry for everything we exposed you to as a child. You have no idea how much I regret it. And I am so proud of the life you've managed to create for yourself in spite of your terrible parents."

"You weren't terrible parents," Draco told her gently, but the words felt hollow to both of them and he decided to change the subject to spare them both.

"So when I brought Hermione to meet you, that was the first time we had spoken in two years?" he asked.

"Yes, a little over two years," Narcissa responded. "I was shocked when you reached out to me. Of course, I knew you were dating – it was in all of the papers – but I was shocked that you would want me to meet anyone you were in love with, let alone Hermione Granger."

"I'm a bit shocked too, to be honest, given all that I just saw," Draco admitted.

Narcissa gave him a small grin. "It was Hermione who convinced you to reach out to me. After everything that happened with her parents, she thought it was important that you try to have some sort of relationship with yours."

"What happened to her parents?"

"Didn't she tell you? She used a memory charm on them during the war to protect them and afterwards… well she was never really able to reverse it. She tried a few times, but in the end the experts agreed that any further attempts risked their physical and mental health, so she let them go. It was extraordinarily painful for her."

Draco felt guilty for not knowing this story, though really he wasn't to blame, and he started to recognize how hard it must have been for her to watch him lose his memories of the past eight years. No wonder she had been so cautious moving forward and so affected by everything – this had to be a terrible reminder of what she had previously endured.

"So how did you and father take it when I brought her over?"

"Well, Lucius refused to meet her, or to have anything to do with you. He was a proud man, as you know, and couldn't forgive what he saw as impudence on your part," Narcissa explained.

There was an uncomfortable moment filled with unspoken questions.

"He was dying, Draco," Narcissa said quietly. "I couldn't leave him. I wanted to, trust me, but I was his wife, and he was dying. If you still feel resentful towards me for it, you're on familiar ground – I still don't think you've ever forgiven me for it."

It was a bit jarring, to learn of tension he couldn't remember. He had spent the past week learning about all of the reconciliations he had enjoyed in the past eight years and all of the growth everyone had experienced, but here was something that still needed work. It felt oddly comforting – it felt real.

"Can you tell me about that day? The day I brought Granger over?" Draco asked his mother.

She smiled. "I'd be happy to. You two had been dating for a few months when you came by. It was winter – there was a beautiful snow that morning. I remember looking out on it with such hope. I couldn't wait to see you again."

.

 **Four and a Half Years Earlier**

Narcissa paced back and forth in the sitting room, checking everything for the tenth time. She fluffed the pillows on the sofa. She used her wand to make sure the fire was blazing, then thought it looked aggressive and scaled it back a bit. She checked her reflection in the mirror on the wall and took a deep breath, steeling herself for this moment.

She turned as she heard a small knock on the door and watched as her house elf announced the arrival of the visitors. Her eyes followed his small form to the larger man and woman in the doorway and she smiled the first genuine smile she had felt in two years.

"Draco, my darling," she cried, holding out her arms to embrace him, but then she stopped short, unsure of what he'd be comfortable with. She turned to Hermione and greeted her politely. "And Miss Granger, welcome to our home. I'm so glad to meet you again and want to acknowledge the unspeakable experiences you have had in my home in the past, and to offer what apologies I can for them, though I know that no apology can ever be enough." She had practiced that speech over and over again, trying to find the perfect words to express something so deeply felt.

Hermione offered her a small smile and stepped around Draco, who had frozen in the doorway. She took Narcissa's hands in her own and offered her a genuine smile.

"Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy, that means more than you know. I'm really happy to meet you again too."

Narcissa turned again to her son, nervous about his stoic demeanor. She watched Hermione reach for his hand and guide him slowly into the room.

Her touch seemed to awaken him and he looked to Hermione for reassurance before turning to his mother.

"Thank you, Mother, for having us over. I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing here, but I wanted to… to give us another chance. And I wanted you to meet Hermione, the woman I'm in love with." He announced the last part with such confidence that Narcissa almost felt taken aback and she noted a small blush creep into Hermione's cheeks.

The three sat down and, after a few awkward moments, the conversation flowed surprisingly naturally. It turned out that Hermione and Narcissa shared a great deal in common and at one point they looked up to realize they had been discussing their favorite novel for fifteen minutes, excluding Draco from the conversation.

At one point, Hermione excused herself for the restroom and Narcissa watched her son follow her out of the room with his eyes. When she was gone, Draco turned back to his mother and she smiled.

"She's perfect for you," Narcissa told him.

"She's perfect in general," Draco replied.

"You're a different man around her. A better man. I'm so proud of you, Draco."

Draco looked at his hands and smiled. "I like to think that I was on my way to becoming a better person before Hermione and I reconnected, but she has certainly provided me with motivation. She's unlike anyone I've ever known."

"I'm so happy for you, really I am," Narcissa said genuinely.

"And you don't mind that she's a muggleborn? Not that I'm asking permission," Draco said coolly.

"I don't care about any of that, and I want you to know that… that I have been doing so much thinking since we last met. I always knew that… that everything with the Dark Lord was wrong, but I never took the time to really think about my role within all of it." She paused for a moment, considering the weight of her words. "I've searched myself, Draco. Really asked myself the hard questions. And I've tried to make myself into the mother that you always deserved, even if it's too late for it. You have found a woman who challenges you, who makes you smile, and who makes you want to be the best version of yourself, and I honestly couldn't have imagined anything better for you."

Draco held his mother's hands and told her that he hoped they could have some sort of relationship moving forward. Hermione returned a few moments later and the rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly. When they left a few hours later, Hermione was loaded down with three novels Narcissa insisted she had to read and a number of records that the matriarch assured her she would love as well.

.

 **Present Day**

Draco smiled at his mother's recounting of the meeting and found himself somewhat lost for words at the end of it.

"You said something there," he began after a moment, "something that I've been thinking about for the last few days. It seems like there was a moment in the past eight years where I really turned things around. I had been thinking it had to be something to do with Hermione and that she really made me a better person, but it also seems like those first two years before I reconnected with her were the most significant."

Narcissa thought for a moment.

"I don't think our lives are that neat and linear, Draco," she told him. "I think we are creatures that constantly grow and evolve, given the stimuli around us and our own motivations. The past eight years have been monumental for you. The way that you found your identity and built your company in those first two years was lifechanging, and I don't think you and Hermione could have fallen in love had you not experienced the personal changes you did in those two years. Yet, once you found each other, you also grew in such incredible ways. You made yourself a better person. Hermione made you whole."

…

Draco stayed at his mother's house for most of the day. She told him more about the past eight years, but they also discussed older memories and talked about other subjects. She showed him the changes she had made to the manor and they took advantage of the nice weather to walk and talk in the extensive manor gardens. He didn't bring up Lucius yet; he just didn't feel ready for that conversation.

Late in the afternoon, he knew he should return home to face Hermione. He had told his mother all about his fight with her the day before, so she knew what he was dreading.

They said their goodbyes in front of the fireplace and Draco stood, holding the floo powder in his fist and trying to get up the courage to face his wife.

His mother rolled her eyes. "Oh, Draco, do buck up. This really isn't that bad."

He smirked at her and felt better. "That's fair. I'll see you soon."

He stepped through the flames and emerged in the living room that was starting to feel more like his own after a few days of living there.

He hadn't expected Hermione to be home yet and was planning to try to cook something to get back into her good graces. His mother had explained a simple recipe to him a dozen times before he left and he was confident that he could at least manage not to burn the house down while making it.

He was surprised then, to find Hermione sitting on the couch in the living room, surrounded by photo albums and boxes of loose snapshots, newspaper clippings, letters, and other ephemera. Her hair was piled on her head in a loose, messy bun and she was dressed in a comfy t-shirt and leggings. In that moment, he realized how beautiful she was.

She looked up when he entered and gave him a small smile. She stood and started to speak, looking at her hands nervously. "Draco, I –"

But he cut her off, eager to say what he had planned and practiced hours earlier.

"Let me go first. I want to start by saying that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for blowing up on you yesterday and for walking out on you. I'm sorry for badgering you into sharing more than you were ready to share and for reacting with impatience and anger when you were trying your best. I could offer explanations, but I'm sure you already know them. This is a stressful time for both of us, and I didn't make it easier yesterday. I also just learned about your parents, so I understand now why this is doubly hard for you to experience."

She nodded sadly, but before she could reply, Draco interrupted her again. This time, though, he didn't speak from memorized words, but out of an impulse he couldn't suppress.

"And I think I also just want to thank you, Hermione."

"For what?" she asked curiously.

"For being patient with me, for not giving up on me, for loving me, and… just… for everything. When I see the way we look at each other, particularly in the memories I've gotten to watch in the pensieve, I don't even recognize the level of happiness that version of myself is experiencing. I guess what I'm saying is… thank you for taking that walk in the park with me six years ago, and for taking me there again four days ago. I still don't have any of my lost memories, but the one thing I know for sure now is that, if I had the choice, I would choose this life. With you."

Hermione stood up and reached for him. He pulled her into a tight embrace and concentrated on how every ounce of it felt, willing himself to remember this woman who had remade his life so completely. It felt good to have his arms around her, to feel her hair tickling his neck, to sense her heartbeat against his chest. It wasn't familiar, though, and for a brief moment his heart sank with disappointment.

In that instant, though, a new thought came to him for the first time, and that was that he didn't really care about recovering his memories as much as he did about living in that present moment. He brought his hand up to stroke her back, not because he wondered if it was what he used to do, but because it felt right. And it did feel right.

After a moment, Hermione pulled back and looked him in the eyes.

"Thank you for that, and for taking the time to really understand what was going through my mind yesterday. I really, really appreciate it."

They hugged again for a moment before separating. Hermione led Draco over to the couch and he surveyed all of the things she had laid out.

"What are these? I mean, I can tell they're photographs, but of what, specifically?" he asked.

"Of everything, basically," Hermione told him. "I remembered that you said you looked at the photographs in your office without incident, so I thought maybe we could spend the evening just looking at photographs and different things, to see if anything jogs your memory."

Draco smiled. "That sounds like a great idea. I was going to try to cook you dinner…"

"I just ordered takeout – I'm sorry Draco!" Hermione rushed to reply.

Draco smirked. "That sounds like an even better idea."

…

They spent the evening eating Chinese food and looking at photographs. Each one had a small story that went with it and Draco loved watching and listening to Hermione tell them.

"This one is from the surprise birthday party we threw you when you turned 25," she told him.

"I don't look that surprised," Draco commented.

"That's because you weren't. You're such a Slytherin. We were supposed to meet at the house after work, like we always did, and I was going to suggest going out to dinner and act like nothing was planned. Everyone was waiting at the restaurant. Instead, I got home from work to find you sitting at the table with a list written out on a notepad. You had figured out the location, the entire guest list, the organizers, and even most of the menu. Drove me absolutely crazy."

Draco smirked. "Now that sounds like me."

.

"Now here's something I've never seen: a Malfoy man holding a baby."

"Yes, that's one of the Goyle boys – I think Freddie? It doesn't look like one of the twins."

He remembered how he was away for Marigold's birth, communicating with Greg only via postcard. This felt much better.

.

"Now you have to tell me what's going on in this one," he commanded, pointing to a picture of himself, Greg, Harry, and Ron completely drenched, standing on some sort of dock.

"You and Ron were in charge of planning Harry's bachelor party, and let's just say things didn't go as planned," she told him.

"Oh, come on, now I have to hear this story!"

"Well, you put Ron in charge of hiring the 'entertainment' and he booked a company famous for veelas. He was a cheap tipper, though, and to get revenge the veelas drove you all off the dock into this lake. It was freezing, too – middle of March!"

"Who took the picture?"

"Neville – the only one who had the sense to plug his ears when he saw the veelas."

.

He read through birthday cards, postcards, and letters, smiling as he watched his relationship with Hermione grow with each sentence and paragraph.

There were many photographs of the two of them as well, and Draco eyed them hungrily.

"This one is from our first date in Paris," Hermione told him.

"I remember you mentioning that. I literally just took you to Paris on our first date?" he asked.

"Yes. You said that you had waited a year for our first date and it had to be absolutely perfect. You spent a full week planning it. We spent the weekend in a beautiful hotel with a perfect view of the city. We ate amazing food and toured museums and – it was just perfect. The perfect weekend."

"Well, I _am_ quite the romantic," Draco boasted.

Hermione gave him a small eye roll. "You definitely had your moments."

"Any idea why I chose Paris? Is it special to us?"

Hermione thought for a moment. "Not really to us, but it seemed special to you. You said that it was important to go there with me. You never really elaborated, though. And the weird thing is, we never went back."

He thought about that and remembered that he had also mentioned Paris to Greg in a postcard. There was a mystery there, that was sure.

Before he could ask more, though, another picture caught his eye and he snatched it up quickly.

"Is this one of our wedding photographs?" he asked.

"Yes," Hermione confirmed, smiling broadly. "What a perfect day that was."

Draco looked at the photograph. He and his new wife were dancing closely on a dance floor, surrounded by smiling family and friends. He had his left hand on the small of Hermione's back, while his right hand held her left. She rested her head on his shoulder, but as they took one turn, she lifted her head to look at him and they exchanged a small, soft kiss. He wished he could be there: that he could hear the song they were dancing to, feel her in his arms, smell her hair and the scent of the flowers surrounding them. He thought he understood now what his mother meant about Hermione making him whole.

"Where did we get married?" Draco asked Hermione.

"We had our wedding at your family's country house in Spain," Hermione told him. "It was absolutely beautiful."

"I love that house," Draco said, smiling. It made him happy to at least remember the site from his childhood and be able to picture the place where he had apparently gotten married.

"What was it like?" he asked.

"Our wedding? It was perfect. I mean, not perfect. The flowers arrived late and my hair wouldn't stay up, but in the end, everything was absolutely perfect. It really was a wonderful day."

As she spoke, she cradled the photograph in her hands and Draco could tell that it meant a lot to her. He wanted to ask more and hear more details, but he sensed that he should leave things be for that moment.

He reached for another photograph, this one featuring a very pregnant Ginny Weasley. He smiled at the glare she was shooting Harry in the picture – it was clear he had made some sort of joke or something that she didn't find funny at that moment.

"Were we planning to have kids?" he asked Hermione softly.

"We were circling the idea," she told him. "It took a long time for you to decide it was something you wanted, and then the timing never seemed right. We were planning to start trying soon, though."

The "were" hung in the air. He wondered what would happen now, and found he didn't want to think about it too much.

They moved on to other photographs and passed hours in friendly conversation. At one point, Hermione looked up and noted it was almost midnight.

"Oh, goodness, time got away from me! And tomorrow's Monday, so we really should both go to work, at least for the morning. We should turn in."

Draco stood up and stretched, nodding in agreement.

"Sure you don't want to join me in our room?" he asked her.

She considered it for a moment before shaking her head. "But ask me again tomorrow," she told him with a smile.

"Will do," he replied, flashing her his signature smirk.

He lay in bed that night, thinking over everything that had happened that day. This was becoming a pattern for him – reviewing the day before he went to sleep – but he didn't mind it. He thought about everything he had seen in the pensieve that morning, everything he and Narcissa had discussed, and all of the stories and photographs he had gone over with Hermione. But somehow his thoughts were still pulled to the present, not the past. As he drifted off to sleep, his thoughts weren't of his memories or of his 20-year old life, but of Hermione's eyes as she told them about their wedding, about the way she tucked the stray curl behind her ear, and of the way it felt when he held her.

.

Author's Note: I made up the info about the graphorn, but it seems like it could be true, right? At least plausible? Whatever, I'm having fun :-)


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

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Insanely long Author's Note:

Sorry about the delay! With summer ending, my schedule definitely picked up. Also, my strategy of "let's write myself holes to fill in later" in this fic sort of caught up to me, so it took a little while to untangle everything in this chapter and the rest of the fic, but I actually feel really good about everything! I think this story is going in a direction I didn't initially intend, but that it's going to end up being really cool. I hope you think so too!

Also, I'm starting a new fic! I've never written two fics at once before, but I couldn't stop thinking about this one and just decided to try it. I was watching New Girl the other day (one of my favorite shows) and started thinking about how fun it would be to write an HP fanfic in that style, so that's my next project. It'll be sort of like the scene I have earlier in this fic with Draco and Harry at the pub – that sort of tone. I'm going to post the first 3 chapters together so people get a sense of the style, but it's going to be comedy-driven and serial, meaning that I don't have a specific plot or endgame in mind from the outset. It will be Dramione eventually, because I can't help myself, but will be more of a sitcom than a movie, if that makes sense. Keep an eye out for it – I think it will be called "The Flat."

And, as always, I don't own any of this – but I'm having a lot of fun with it :-)

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Chapter 7

Draco woke up on Monday morning feeling optimistic. The weekend had taught him a great deal and he was also looking forward to putting in another day at Malfoy Magical, his potion-ingredient company. He ate breakfast with Hermione at their small kitchen table, enjoying the ease with which they started their days together.

"Busy day today?" he asked.

"Yes, actually. I have three meetings this morning and two with potential clients this afternoon." Hermione told him about her clients and the manuscripts they were interested in, as well as how she had originally found and restored them. Draco listened intently, trying not to get distracted by how the sun caught in her hair or how her eyes were the perfect shade of amber.

"So I should be home around 5, same as you," he heard her saying, and he snapped out of his reverie.

"Yes, sounds good," he told her with a cough.

She rolled her eyes and smiled at his apparent lack of attention and stood to place her mug in the dishwasher. Draco followed her with his dishes. He paused at the fridge, pointing to an invitation that had been stuck there with a magnet.

"What's this for?" he asked her.

"Oh, that. I forgot all about it!" Hermione told him, picking up the glossy paper. "They're having a celebration to mark the ten-year anniversary of the end of the war at Hogwarts – it's this coming weekend."

"Were we planning on going?" Draco asked.

"We were, but that was before all of this happened," Hermione told him, gesturing vaguely to the space around them. "I hadn't thought about it since."

"I think we should go," Draco told her.

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, weighing the idea. "I'll think about it," she told him.

Now he rolled his eyes at her. "Where's that Gryffindor courage?" he teased.

"Low blow, Draco," she told him with a smile, before heading down the hallway toward their room. "I just need to grab my cardigan before I leave," she explained over her shoulder.

He knew she was changing the subject, but they both did have to get to work, so he decided to let her get away with it for now.

Draco moved through the kitchen, absent-mindedly checking to make sure he had everything. He had his briefcase, his wand, his notes from the previous week…

Without thinking, he noticed that the sun was shining brightly through the window and that the mint was sitting in direct sunlight on the counter. He moved it quickly to the shade without even noticing he was doing so. He heard Hermione coming back from the bedroom and went to the fireplace to meet her.

They exchanged goodbyes and each headed off to work, agreeing to meet back at home for dinner.

In the empty flat, the mint plant sat in the shade, relieved to be out of the harmful direct sunlight for the first time in nearly a week.

…

Most people complained about work on Mondays, but Draco was having the time of his life. Everything was still so new and exciting to him and it seemed like every ten minutes he was learning something new about what he had achieved in the past eight years.

"Really? Slughorn himself endorsed us?" he asked Neville at one point, reading a framed news clipping that showed the old potions master shaking Draco's hand vigorously.

"Oh, yes, he was so excited for us. We still get invitations to dinner at least once a month. Had to reserve a whole line for it in the budget – he has expensive tastes, that Slughorn."

"He invites, but we pay?"

"That's what you do when you get an endorsement from one of the most prominent potioneers left in Britain," Neville answered with a friendly shrug.

Draco sat in on meeting after meeting, listening to plans and contributing his thoughts and advice. He poured over his notes, too, learning what ideas and opinions he had had before his memories disappeared. He wasn't sure if it was surprising or comforting, but he found himself agreeing with everything in the notes. He still felt like himself here and it was an empowering day overall.

There were moments, though, when his concentration drifted. He found himself thinking back to Hermione's laugh the evening before, to the way her hair looked piled on top of her head, and to how soft her hands were when she grabbed his own in a moment of excitement. He found himself wondering what she would think of certain ideas and whether she would agree with the courses of action he was deciding to take throughout the day.

In short, he couldn't get Hermione Granger out of his head and it was driving him totally bonkers. This was not how Draco Malfoy behaved and he had no explanation or idea for how to stop it.

In one particular moment of distraction, he growled audibly. Neville, who had been sitting on the other side of his office editing a research grant proposal, chuckled softly to himself.

"Something amusing, Longbottom?" Draco asked, remembering in that moment that he wasn't supposed to like the Gryffindor.

"I'd say it's pretty amusing that even with all of your memories gone you still keep getting distracted thinking about your wife," Neville responded without looking up.

Draco turned to him and glared. Surely Neville Longbottom was not skilled in legilimency? Now _that_ he would never believe. He could tell that Neville knew he was staring and was purposely not looking up from the document he was writing. Draco watched the edge of his mouth quiver as Neville held back a smirk.

"I'm not thinking about my wife," Draco told him.

"Mmhmm," Neville replied, his smirk growing.

Draco decided that the best way to shut him up would be to ignore him to go back to work. So he did… for a few minutes.

 _I wonder what Hermione and I will do for dinner_ , he thought, looking at the clock. He realized he'd be seeing her in two more hours and the thought made him smile. Then he realized he was distracted again and threw his quill down angrily.

He heard an audible snicker from Neville and turned to glare at him again.

"I'm not thinking about her," he swore again.

"Of course you're not," Neville replied, not even trying to hide the smirk anymore.

"And what would make you think that I am?" Draco asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Because you're making the same distracted faces and frustrated noises you always made when you were thinking of her instead of work," Neville explained.

"Was this often?" Draco asked after a moment.

"Quite often," Neville told him.

"How revolting," Draco said, in a voice that let Neville know he wasn't totally serious.

"You're telling me," Neville replied.

They passed the rest of the afternoon in companionable silence, pausing to ask each other questions or check in regarding their work.

Once 4:30 hit, though, Draco found that he was peeking up at the clock every minute or so, waiting for the hour to hit five. He made it to 4:40 before Neville threw his work down.

"Oh, just go to her bookshop already – neither of us can concentrate if you keep looking at the clock every twenty seconds," he said.

"It wasn't every twenty seconds," Draco retorted, defending himself, but he was packing his briefcase faster than he ever had and, after a quick goodbye, headed for the floo to go meet his wife before they went home.

…

When Draco arrived at Hermione's bookstore, he found her at one of the workstations with some sort of magnifying glass contraption wrapped around her head. When she looked up to greet him, it made her right eye appear enormous. He jumped a bit, in spite of himself, and Hermione laughed at his response.

"Just a hands-free magnifier," she told him, taking it off. "I've tried different spells, but this old muggle contraption works far better."

"It looks like a death trap," Draco said.

"That's what you always said," she replied with a laugh.

"I finished work early for the day, so I thought I'd walk you home," Draco told her, stepping further in to see what she was working on.

"That sounds lovely. Want to see my current project?" she offered. Draco accepted, and she pointed out all of the different details she was uncovering.

"I have about 60% of it restored," she told him proudly, and he marveled at her work. She clearly possessed a great deal of talent.

She showed him a couple of her other projects before closing the store for the day. Since the weather was so nice, they decided to skip the floo and walk outside to a nearby apparition point. The fading sunlight brought out smiles in both of them and Draco felt lighter than he had in a while.

They passed a small restaurant with a "grand opening" sign, and Draco turned to Hermione, an idea developing in his mind.

"Want to try something new?" he asked.

"That sounds perfect," Hermione replied with a smile.

As the waitress seated them, they both realized how special it felt to be doing something new – something that Draco wasn't in any way expected to remember. Draco decided to take it even further as he picked up the menu.

"Have I ever had artichokes?" he asked her.

"Not that I remember," she told him honestly.

"Well I'm ordering them tonight," he told her with a grin.

Hermione decided to play along and also selected something she had never eaten before.

Both of their meals turned out to be delicious and they enjoyed them along with wine they had never tried before either. They ordered dessert to go and, by the time they got home, were both feeling giddy.

Draco got them both plates and forks (and more wine) while Hermione turned on music. Without thinking, he saved the cork and slipped it into a drawer. He returned to the living room and settled on the couch with Hermione to split the cheesecake they had selected.

"What on earth are we listening to?" Draco asked.

"Fleetwood Mac! One of my favorite bands!" Hermione told him.

He shook his head at her, but the cheesecake was so delicious and the day had gone so well, it was impossible to be in a bad mood.

As they ate, Hermione asked him about the one subject he had been trying not to think about all day.

"Are you ready for the follow-up visit to the doctor tomorrow?" she asked tentatively.

It had been a week since Draco's memories had disappeared and the doctor wanted him to come back to the office for more scanning.

"I mean, I'm not sure how I can be 'ready' for it, but yeah, I guess it's good to go," Draco answered.

There was a moment's pause.

"I feel stupid even asking this," Hermione began, "because I know you would have told me, but you haven't remembered anything, right? Even little things?"

"Not really," Draco replied. "Sometimes I get the sense that something's familiar, but I wonder if I'm just trying to force it – if I feel that way because I want to feel that way. I definitely haven't had a clear memory."

Draco watched Hermione chew her lip and knew she was nervous.

"But hey, at least I haven't gotten any worse," he offered with a slight smirk.

"That's true – you could have kept losing your memories and reverted back to being a total prat like you were at Hogwarts," Hermione replied and Draco was happy to see the smile on her face.

"Let's not talk about it anymore," Draco suggested. "Let's focus on tonight and the amazing new restaurant we just experienced, and this delicious cheesecake, and your terrible taste in music."

Hermione rolled her eyes at the last comment, but agreed, and they settled back into companionable conversation.

When a slow song came on some time later, Draco pulled Hermione to her feet and insisted she dance with him, a mischievous grin on his face.

"I always tell people I don't dance, but I'm guessing you know that I do," he told her with a smile.

"That's right, though after last year's Christmas party, I'm pretty sure the whole wizarding world knows that you love to dance. We couldn't keep you off the floor," she replied.

He spun her around, laughing when she became momentarily disoriented before settling back into his arms. He led her across the room and back, making up his own moves and turning her when she least expected it. They were both laughing so hard that they could barely keep going. They danced like they had all of the time in the world – like they could keep discovering new restaurants and trying new food and build some sort of new life together out of the ashes of the old. They danced like they could easily fall in love again, replicating the miracles of the past and confirming to everyone that they were destined to be soulmates. They danced like they didn't need Draco's memories at all, like they could wake up each day and start totally anew and still fall in love with each other again and again.

And, in the deep recesses of both of their minds, they honestly started to think of those possibilities.

After a long time of raucous dancing, Hermione settled her head against his chest and they were still, swaying slowly and taking a break from their fun.

Draco closed his eyes and savored the moment – the feel of her hand on his upper back, her head on his chest, her other hand held in his. He loved how his own hand fit into the dip of her back like it was made to be placed there. He noticed how they danced in time with each other, perfectly in sync even when joking around. He could feel her heart beating and found it immensely soothing. He couldn't remember ever feeling this comfortable around a woman – around anyone, if he was honest.

And so he kissed her.

It was natural, really, and probably inevitable. He didn't remember their life together or their marriage, but something about her was drawing him in, and in the end there was no way he couldn't have kissed her right then.

She kissed him back, the hand on his back moving up to his neck. She kissed him because she missed her husband and because she was somehow falling in love even with this new version of him. It felt odd, almost like she was cheating on her husband, but still totally familiar. They both sensed that they wouldn't move farther than this tonight, that this kiss was momentous and that nothing else was needed to make the evening complete.

When they broke apart, she didn't ask him if it felt familiar or if he remembered her. She just took him by the hand and led him back to their room, where they slept in the same bed again for the first time since Draco had woken up with no memories.

It was a peaceful night in their home. The residents were sleeping happily, both thinking back on their day and the kiss that had ended it. The doors were locked, the books had been put away, and in the kitchen, a mint plant flourished after its day in the shade and a cork sat in a drawer, where Hermione had been saving them for the past year for Luna, who was collecting them for an art project.

…

When Draco woke the next morning, he turned to find Hermione nervously looking up at the ceiling, chewing her lip again. He smiled at the sight of her in his bed and thought he could get used to it.

"Thinking about the trip to the doctor?" he asked.

She nodded.

"You're not even the one getting prodded, Granger, what do you have to be nervous about?" he asked, but they both knew she had plenty to be nervous about. He pushed himself over to her and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. "It'll be fine," he told her.

When Hermione turned to look at him, he could tell she didn't believe him, but he couldn't blame her: he didn't believe himself either.

…

A few hours later, they were sitting in a patient room at St. Mungo's, waiting for the doctor to return with the test results. The doctor had run the same scans as he had the first day, plus a few others he had thought of in the week they had been apart. Draco felt vaguely tossed around by the end, but hoped that it would be worth it.

He looked to Hermione and noted that she still looked incredibly nervous. He thought about her parents and realized how hard all of this had to be for her. He reached for her hand and held it in his own, tracing small circles with his thumb to try to calm her down. She gave him a sad smile and squeezed his hand to show her gratitude.

He was about to tell her that none of it mattered – that regardless of what the doctor told them, he wasn't going anywhere. That he'd seen enough in the past week to know that this was worth investing his time and effort in and that he couldn't imagine himself living any other life.

He didn't get the chance, though, because just then the doctor returned to the room.

Draco could tell from his expression that he didn't have great news, and he wasn't wrong.

"Well," the doctor began, "I'm not sure exactly where to start. There is good news and bad news, although I must say that not much has changed since your last visit. I see no further damage and no damage to other parts of your internal functioning, which is certainly good news. I think we can say with confidence that you are not at direct risk for sliding any farther backward. I also think your brain is relatively stable, so I don't have any concerns about fragility at this point."

He paused, and Draco tried to look grateful, but both his and Hermione's disappointment at this being the "good" news was hard to hide.

"And the bad news?" Hermione asked, and Draco admired her courage, still present even in the darkest times.

"The bad news is that I don't really see any progress toward memory recovery at all. Your brain seems to be functioning totally normally, Mr. Malfoy, but just without the memories of the past eight years. We tried a number of different stimuli to at least try to push the brain to _try_ to locate the missing memories, but we found nothing. This is truly one of the least promising cases I've seen, though I apologize for phrasing it that harshly."

Draco looked at his hand that still held Hermione's.

"What would you say is the chance of me recovering my memories?" Draco asked.

"In my professional opinion, I would put it at less than 10%," the doctor told them with an apologetic face. "If nothing comes back by next week, I would put it at less than 1%."

"And do you have any ideas for anything else we could try?" Hermione asked.

"Not really," the doctor replied, rubbing his chin. "I think you've been doing everything you could."

Hermione nodded in understanding, but Draco could see the despair in her eyes.

"I do have one more thing to go over, but I'd prefer to speak to Draco in private," the doctor added, and both Draco and Hermione looked up in surprise.

"Why in private?" Draco asked. "You can say anything in front of Hermione that you have to tell me."

"I'd really rather not," the doctor said cautiously, and Hermione stood to leave.

"It's really fine – I'll just run to the washroom and meet you in the lobby," she told them, and Draco could tell she just needed a bit of time and space for herself.

He gave her hand one more squeeze before she left. "I'll tell you everything," he promised her.

Once Hermione had left, the doctor sat down across from Draco. Draco took that as a bad sign.

"I've been doing some research into what could have caused your memory loss," the doctor told him.

Draco leaned in slightly, interested in what he had to say.

"I still think it could have been a spell or curse, as I went over on the first day. There are a number of spells with intentional delays that could have affected you years after the fact, and I don't think it would be smart to dismiss that as a possibility. Given the strength of this one, though, I don't think it could have occurred a decade ago – it would have to have been more recent than that."

"But not super recent or I would show signs of trauma?" Draco asked, remembering his previous explanation.

The doctor nodded. "Yes, definitely not right before your memory loss, but also not a decade ago. Unfortunately, I think that whatever caused this most likely happened during the period you now can't remember, which I recognize is immensely frustrating."

 _He doesn't know the half of it_ , Draco thought.

"You said 'whatever happened,'" Draco said slowly, "does that mean you think it could have been something other than a curse?"

"Yes, I do. I've never seen a curse or spell act like this, and it has left me thoroughly puzzled. I did a bit more research into potential causes and found a second possibility, one that seems far more likely given the test results we're achieving."

The doctor paused for a moment, searching for the right words. Draco noticed he had stopped making eye contact.

"While spells are potent, potions are far more so. Given how firmly your memories seem to have disappeared and how little progress you've been able to achieve, I think it's far more likely that a potion caused your memory loss."

"Are you saying that someone slipped me a potion?" Draco asked, somewhat confused.

"Not exactly. A potion this powerful would have been impossible to miss if someone had mixed it into a drink – you would have realized immediately that something was up and reached out for help. That has happened to others in the past. I'm also guessing that you had to imbibe a significant amount of the potion in order to lose eight years of memories, so it is highly unlikely that anyone would have been able to slip it to you without you noticing."

Now Draco was very confused.

"So you're pretty sure it was a potion, but you don't think someone tricked me into drinking it – what exactly are you saying?" he asked.

"I'm saying that I think you drank this potion intentionally."

Draco stood up, incredulous and offended.

"You're saying I erased my own memories?!"

"I know that this sounds alarming," the doctor said calmly, rising as well. "But in almost every case I've read, they have later found evidence of this being intentional. In order to consume enough potion to cause this much memory loss, you would have had to intentionally drink it yourself."

"There's no way that that's true," Draco said firmly. "I've spent the past week learning how amazing my life is and there is no way that I would have intentionally thrown it away. There's just seriously no way. Where would I have even obtained a potion like that? Absolutely not." He was pacing by now, running his hands through his hair.

"Like I said earlier, this is just a theory," the doctor told him, still trying to calm him down. "We still don't know for certain what caused this and there could be even more explanations out there. I just think we need to explore it as a possibility. We need to put it on the table."

"So you want me to now try to find out reasons why I might have tried to erase my own memories and start over?" Draco asked.

"I'm saying to keep your eyes open. Look past what everyone is telling you and try to find traces of what _you_ were thinking and doing in the past few weeks. And remember that there are other explanations – this is just one of them. Focus as well on people who might have had it in for you and who might have cursed you – I've never seen a curse act like this, but that doesn't mean we should remove it as a possibility."

"I don't even know how to respond to this," Draco told him.

"I'll leave you alone to process your thoughts. Come out whenever you're ready," the doctor told him before slipping out.

Draco stood in the room alone before collapsing into a chair and burying his head in his hands.

He had spent the past week learning how amazing his life was. He had seen his incredible company, his mature relationship with his mother, his newfound friendships, and of course his unbelievable marriage. He had heard from the people he trusted most in the world and hadn't received a negative account from anyone.

And yet.

And yet, Draco knew that if he wanted to remove his own memories, a potion was what he would have chosen. He knew he could have probably made it himself – hell, he owned a company that _specialized_ in potion ingredients! It was there, in front of him. He had the opportunity and the means.

But the motivation? How on earth could he have wanted to erase his own memories?

He thought back to the reassurance he wanted to provide to Hermione before the doctor came in – that he wasn't going anywhere regardless of what the doctor said. He wanted to be that strong now. He wanted to reject this possibility, to say there was no way that he could have taken that potion intentionally, that there was no way he would have willingly given her up. He wanted to say that it didn't matter whether he had taken it or not, because he wanted to be here now, and he would give anything now to have those memories.

He wanted to be strong and assertive, to take control of his own life.

But he also desperately wanted to know the truth.

…

He was quiet when they got home. He couldn't bring himself to tell Hermione what the doctor had said. He knew it would only worry her more and, at his core, he was ashamed that it was even a possibility.

Instead, he told her that the doctor had just reviewed possible causes of his memory loss, but that he hadn't found anything new, and that he had wanted Hermione out of the room because he felt the news was too discouraging for her.

It wasn't his most believable lie, but the alternative was so grotesque that she could never imagine it, so she mostly bought it.

He told her that the tests had left him exhausted and that he needed to nap. He retreated to their room and spent the rest of the afternoon there, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what to do.

He heard Hermione leave in the evening, perhaps to run an errand or just get some air.

When he was sure he was alone, he stood up slowly and approached his dresser. He stared at it for a long moment. He had opened the drawers and taken clothing out during the past week, of course, but he hadn't really dug around. He turned to face the rest of the room and peered out through the doorway into the rest of the house as well.

He thought about closets, boxes, desks, dressers, cabinets… he thought about his office, the manor, and anywhere else where he might have kept anything that could help him explain what had happened one week earlier.

He knew as he stood in front of that dresser that he was making a decision. If he started to look – if he started to dig into his own life for secrets – he was admitting that there was a possibility that he had taken the potion intentionally. He was admitting that he didn't totally trust the version of reality he had received the past week and was committing to uncovering the whole truth.

Yet, he also knew that he couldn't feel good about staying in this life until he knew that whole truth.

He took a deep breath and mentally estimated how long Hermione would be out, based on what he had observed during the previous week. He figured he had at least an hour.

He steeled himself and opened the first drawer.

.

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A/N: I had initially intended to make this chapter longer, but this just felt like such a great stopping point, so it's a little shorter than normal. But man, so much happening in this chapter! The plot is beginning to swirl…

Thanks for reading! And a special thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter :-)


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Author's Note: As always, I don't own anything related to HP.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I'm glad that the plot twist is proving exciting – I'm pretty pumped about it. Believe it or not, we're actually winding down. Right now, I'm anticipating that this fic will end up at 12 chapters, though it might extend to 13 or 14 depending on how much I write for certain scenes. I always intended for it to be a shorter fic with a tighter plotline.

I don't want to give anything away, but I have an ending planned that I'm insanely excited about, and I hope you'll stick with me. I promise that this story will end happily, in perhaps a way you don't see coming (or maybe a way you totally see coming, depending on how obvious my clues are). I've had the ending planned since the very beginning and I can't wait to share it with you. To the guest reviewer who asked a question about a specific clue – I'm not going to give it away, but you're right to notice that, and I promise it will play a role later :-) Ok, enough with this, let's get on with the story!

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Chapter 8

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Draco sat at his desk in his office, his head in his hands. He was exhausted, having hardly slept at all the night before. He had continued searching the house after Hermione had come home and fallen asleep, though he was sure to cast a silencing charm so that she wouldn't hear him. It hadn't really been a conscious choice: he just couldn't sleep knowing that the answers to his questions might be hidden somewhere so close to him.

And yet, for all his efforts, he hadn't really turned up much at all. The only thing he had found that was remotely suspicious, or at least not easily explained, was a sealed envelope addressed to him. He could tell from the handwriting that it was from his father. He didn't open the envelope and didn't plan to. This was the wizarding world, after all, and Draco knew that when you found a sealed envelope, sometimes it was better to leave it sealed. He had no idea what Lucius might have left in there or what might happen to him if he opened it. His earlier self hadn't opened it, and he intended to trust those instincts, at least until after he talked to his mother or someone who might know what it was.

Interestingly, though, there was an address scribbled on the back of the envelope in the corner, as if he had used the envelope as scratch paper at some point. The address was in his own handwriting and pointed to a shop in Diagon Alley. He wanted to check it out, but knew he needed to wait for a time when he wouldn't arouse suspicion doing so.

This coming weekend was the reunion event at Hogwarts. Hermione was due to participate in numerous events, so she was heading there early on Friday. Draco planned to take off work on Friday to visit his mother before heading to the school on Saturday. He would still do that… but he would also check out this address that day too.

So that was it. He had scoured as much of the house as he could, had searched boxes, drawers, cabinets, closets – and all he had found was this sealed envelope.

Well, that wasn't totally true. He had found a great deal more than that – but none of it was suspicious. Instead, what he had found in every nook, cranny, and corner was overwhelming evidence that the love between Draco and Hermione had been true and that their relationship had been real and as close to perfect as a relationship could get. He had found notes Hermione had written to him, and, even more surprisingly, notes he had written to her. At one point, he even found a _poem_ for Salazar's sake. Ugh. And piles of photographs of the two of them – really, the evidence was everywhere he turned.

He had come to several conclusions that night, even though he really didn't have any new information. He reviewed them now as he searched his desk drawers for headache potion.

One: His marriage to Hermione had been happy, and he did not suspect that anyone had been lying to him regarding that. Unless somehow everyone in the wizarding world was conspiring against him (and he didn't have nearly enough paranoia to believe that), there was no way all of their stories could align so neatly.

Two: In spite of Fact One, there was still a possibility that Draco had willingly taken a potion to erase his own memories. He didn't want this to be true, and was in fact dedicating all of his time and effort to proving that this was _not_ true, but he did have to acknowledge several factors working against him. The doctor was fairly certain that a spell would not be behaving the way whatever was causing this was behaving – and Draco agreed with him. He had studied potions for years and agreed with the doctor that results of this magnitude were far more likely the result of a potion. He also knew that he probably possessed the skill to create such a potion and, he thought as he surveyed his office, he also had the facility and the resources. Finally, he knew that he would have been able to tell if someone had slipped him a potion. He was astute, particularly when it came to potions. He strongly doubted that anyone could have slipped him anything against his will.

Three: Based on Fact One, if Fact Two did prove true, he had only himself to blame. In other words, based on how happy his life and marriage to Hermione seemed, if he really had felt the need to reset his memories, he was certain that it was due to his own screw-ups, not anything to do with her. This was perhaps the fact that he was most confident about: if anyone had done something to ruin his perfect life, it was definitely himself.

"Yes," he muttered to himself as his hand closed on a small vial of headache potion. He downed it quickly and returned the bottle to the drawer.

He heard a small peck on his window and turned to see a friendly-looking owl perched on the sill. He opened the window and the owl flew in, obviously comfortable with the office and clearly used to spending time there. He understood why when he opened its letter: it was from Hermione, inviting him to have lunch with her.

He quickly penned a message back, answering that he would love to, and sent the owl away as soon as she had eaten her treat and taken a short break.

After only turning up the unopened envelope and thinking through the three main conclusions above, he had come to one big decision: he would continue to investigate the possibility that he had done this to himself, but he wouldn't sacrifice what he was building with Hermione in the process. He was still hopeful that all of this would have an explanation in the end and he didn't want to sabotage their progress for something that he still considered unlikely. She didn't deserve that, and, as of now, he didn't think he deserved it either.

The headache potion had calmed him considerably and he turned back to the stack of paperwork on his desk, hoping to make some sense of it before lunch. He wanted to look through everything in his office – and in Rita's – for potential evidence, but knew he couldn't do anything with everyone around. Both Rita and Neville were scheduled to be out of the office the next day for a meeting with an important client, so he was hoping to use the next day to snoop. For now, he would just have to focus on his actual work.

…

Two hours later, Draco and Hermione were enjoying salads on the terrace of a café a few blocks from Hermione's bookshop. He was happier than ever that he had made the decision to stay committed to their relationship. She was doing an impression of a particularly difficult customer who had visited her shop that morning and he was laughing so hard he was worried he would snort aloud.

"It's so nice to do this," Hermione told him as they both calmed down after their fit of laughter. She relaxed into her chair and took a sip of her iced tea.

"It's definitely a nice break. How often did we do this? A couple of times per week?" he asked.

"Not often at all, actually," Hermione told him, and he raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You were always so busy at work, and you usually used lunch to work in your personal lab on one of your side projects."

"I have a personal potions lab?" Draco asked her.

"Of course! Rita didn't show it to you? I guess you had a lot to over those first few days. There's a secret entrance to it from your main office. I know it, obviously, but few others do. There's a book on your bookshelf… oh, what is it? Some apothecary something or other… anyway, you pull that book down and it opens the door. It recognizes your trace, too: you're the only person who can open it. You saw it in a muggle movie I showed you and became obsessed with it, so you created a magical version."

Draco listened in awe, thinking that this had to be the most badass piece of magic he had ever performed. He also mentally added another site to his list of places to check and remembered that he had a spare hour and a half in his afternoon schedule: he knew how he would be using it now!

"Oh, and before I forget, would you be up for pub trivia tonight? Harry, Ginny, Neville, and Ron are going and I told them we'd try to join."

"Well the company sounds mildly insufferable, but trivia sounds fun, so count me in," Draco told her, and she rolled her eyes at the small slight towards Gryffindor.

"Perfect – we'll eat leftovers at home and then head over. I better get back to the shop – I can't remember the last time I took a lunch this long," she said, looking in surprise at her watch.

They kissed goodbye and Draco returned to his office, suddenly curious about what lurked behind the seemingly innocuous bookshelf to the left of his desk. He only got to look at it for a moment, though, before Rita pulled him to the conference room.

He sat through two meetings before finally getting to the blank ninety minutes in his schedule. He shut and locked the door to his office, casting a silencing spell too for good measure. He told Rita that he needed to focus on his work and wanted no interruptions.

He stood in front of the bookshelf and scanned the titles. There were many on herbology and he absently wondered how many of them came from Granger's shop. Finally, he spotted the one that he thought Hermione may have been describing: "The Last Apothecary in Atlantis." He gently pulled on the book's spine and watch in amazement as the bookshelf dissolved into space in front of him, revealing a doorway instead.

Yes, this was definitely the most badass thing he had ever done. Why did he even have regular doors anywhere? He definitely needed to make more of these. Their house needed one for every doorway, stat.

His curiosity got the best of him and he walked quickly through the doorway, surveying the laboratory as he entered it. It was bigger than he had expected. There were cabinets and shelves of ingredients in different jars, boxes, and bags. Four cauldrons, made of various materials, stood ready for him to use. There was an additional desk and several more bookshelves filled with bound texts and loose notebooks.

He opened the cabinets and looked with approval at how neatly he kept everything. Everything was clearly labeled and there was not a single lacewing fly out of place.

After a few moments of awe, he shook his head to bring himself back to reality. He only had a small window of time and he needed to learn as much as he could.

He scanned the bound texts on the bookshelves. Many were potion guidebooks or explanations of different magical plants and objects. Nothing stuck out to him as unusual. He looked in the cauldrons, but they were all empty. He had a store cupboard for completed potions, but found nothing there either.

He skimmed through his personal research journals, happy to see that he had kept diligent notes. It seemed like he primarily used the private lab for testing the potency of particular ingredients or inventing his own potions. He found entries related to the dragonpox outbreak Neville had told him about the previous week, and learned that he had stayed late for several days to brew the antidote himself, just to provide extra supplies to the hospital.

As the journals became more recent, he noticed one particular project that he had not specifically named in the journals. He talked about it vaguely, referring to it as "the project" or "the side project." There was an entry from a year earlier: "Worked on the project all through lunch, but made no progress." The next week: "Small breakthrough in side project: tortoise shell addition seems promising." Yet, two weeks later, he found this: "Tortoise shell proved hazardous; side project at standstill."

Why would he not have named the project, here in his private journals in his locked, secret laboratory? Clearly this was something of enormous importance and secrecy. The thought made his stomach churn. _Like a potion to erase your memory?_ he thought pessimistically.

Yet, even if that were the case, if his journals were accurate, he had not been very successful. Nearly every entry related to the side project was negative. Even when there was some positive news, the next entry always contradicted it. As he read through entries spanning weeks and months, he could practically feel the frustration of the writer – of himself. He could tell how important this project was and, by all counts, he was failing miserably at it. By the time he got to the last entry, it was clear that he had recorded no significant progress.

After looking through the journals, he turned to the supplies that he kept in the cabinet. Most of the ingredients were typical: he could have been looking through Professor Snape's cabinet at Hogwarts. Yet, certain things seemed to be… overrepresented. He had never seen so many jobberknoll feathers, and surely that was far more mandrake than he needed. There was a lot of horklump juice too, but that might have been leftover from the dragonpox incident: it was a common ingredient in healing spells. With an uneasy feeling, Draco realized that most of the overrepresented ingredients had one thing in common: they were related to memory potions.

His ninety minutes were just about up, so he left the lab and restored everything in his office to its normal place. He took the silencing spell off the office and unlocked the door.

In the two minutes before his next meeting, he thought through what he had learned. He had been working hard at some sort of side project. The ingredients there seemed to point to something having to do with memory, but was he just seeing that because that was what he was looking for? He was sure those ingredients could have many uses, and their abundance could mean anything. Indeed, couldn't it mean that they were exactly the ingredients he had been using the least? No matter what, though, he was very confident that whatever the side project was, it had not been going well before his memory disappeared, and the thought encouraged him. The main takeaway seemed to be that, even if he was working on some sort of potion to remove his own memories, he didn't seem to have been successful.

…

The night at the pub proved the perfect thing to keep his mind off of his troubles. While many of the questions were related to events and cultural phenomena of the past eight years, there were also some throwback questions that Draco knew the answers to.

Hermione pushed them over the top with an answer to a complicated question about Nicholas Flamel, and Draco watched the rest of the pub groan when she threw her hand in the air.

"Hogwarts all over again," he whispered to Harry, who grinned in agreement.

"They sort of hate us here," Harry let him know.

"Because Hermione always knows everything?" Draco asked.

"Well, the two of you together are typically unstoppable. The four of us really just show up to drink and split the prize."

Draco rolled his eyes and muttered something like "Gryffindor freeloaders," but clinked his glass with Harry's anyway.

…

Draco arrived at work the next day ready to snoop like he had never snooped before. He had even worn dark colors, not that it mattered, but it helped get him in the right mindset. It was time to be a sneaky sneak, and he couldn't even feel bad about it, because he was sneaky sneaking on himself. More than anything, it felt good to be acting like a Slytherin again, especially when he was surrounded by so many gross Gryffindors.

When no one else was watching, Draco slipped into Rita's office and closed the door. He took a few minutes to gather anything that he thought might be helpful: accounting logs, records of his agendas and meeting schedules, binders of travel receipts… it really was shocking how much paper this woman kept in her office. She kept it all magically shrunk, to save space, and Draco left it in that form so that he could smuggle it to his own office without suspicion. When he was satisfied that he had anything relevant, he slipped back into his own office with the materials. He shut and locked the door, cast a silencing spell, and, for extra good measure, set a magical alarm to vibrate his wand if anyone approached his office door.

He was ready to snoop.

He started by looking at the accounting records. Five minutes in, he was already bored to tears. Sneaky sneaking was supposed to be exciting, but this was definitely the opposite of that. Still, he pushed on. The records seemed ordinary and he found nothing that aroused suspicion.

As he surveyed just how much paper he had to look through, he decided to use some magic to multitask. He pulled out his own personal agenda book and looked between it and Rita's version. Perhaps there was something he recorded that she didn't? His agenda was protected by magic so that only he could view it – a practice he had maintained since he was eighteen, so luckily he remembered the spell for unlocking it. He unlocked it, thought for a moment, and decided to try a spell. He cast a comparison spell to go through his agenda and Rita's and spot any differences. He knew he would have to filter through a lot of meaningless stuff, but it was all that he could think to do. While that was operating (it would take a while, he knew), he read through more travel receipts and financial reports.

He was on his second cup of coffee, about two hours into reading, when the spell he had set on the agendas finished its work. He set down the binder he was currently reading to look at the results.

There were a high number of inconsistencies that were easily explained away (as he had expected): Draco had a meeting time recorded as starting at 11:00, while Rita had 10:50. It occurred to him that she was an excellent assistant, always scheduling time to make sure he was prepared and on time for his meetings. In other places, it was clear that a location had changed – still, nothing out of the ordinary.

There were a few things, though, that Draco couldn't explain. He counted fifteen meetings that were recorded completely differently in his agenda and Rita's. In Rita's the meetings were labeled different, ordinary things: budget meeting, dentist visit, lunch with client, meeting with suppliers, etc. They were all scheduled to take place off-site, as well, in varying locations. In Draco's agenda, however, he found that they were all labeled the same thing: "Lindsay."

He stood up and walked away from the desk, his hands in his hair.

Lindsay.

There it was, in his own handwriting: another woman's name.

Barely caring at this point if anyone saw him, he snuck back into Rita's office for current and former company directories. When he had them back on his desk, he searched for any potential Lindsays – maybe this was just a colleague?

He found none.

He couldn't remember any Lindsays from Hogwarts, and it wasn't even a common wizarding name.

Lindsay.

He turned back to his agenda, hoping it would yield other clues. The only other thing he found was an address in the first entry that said "Lindsay" (roughly a year and a half earlier). Clearly, after that, he hadn't needed the address. He searched Rita's copy of the agenda with a spell too, but turned up nothing with "Lindsay" in it.

Well, now he had another address to check out on Friday, but this one was far more alarming. He looked more closely at the fifteen entries and noticed that they seemed to be increasing in frequency – at the beginning, he was only meeting Lindsay every few months, but by the past month they had been meeting roughly every other week. That did nothing to alleviate his concerns.

He spent the rest of the day looking through records, but found nothing else that caught his attention. He hadn't been embezzling money or anything like that, and everything in his company seemed in order. His sneaky sneaking was more difficult in the afternoon because he was interrupted several times, but at the end of the day he was satisfied that he had learned all he could.

He tried to cheer himself up with the knowledge that he had only found one thing that felt weird and that it probably had an explanation. Sure Lindsay was a potions supplier, or a big client… but then, why had he not told Rita he was meeting with her? That was the part that worried him the most: that he had given Rita fake appointments to record.

He spent the last hour of his day putting everything back to rights and making sure not a page or receipt was out of place. He ensured that Rita's office looked exactly as it had when he initially entered, and he restored his own office to rights as well. He had already come up with an excuse as to why he hadn't gotten much (or any) work done that day: he had told Neville that he wanted to start reading up on botany so that he could better keep up with the greenhouses. He hadn't actually learned any botany that day, but he took a book home and figured he could look at it on Friday morning so that he could at least pretend to have gained some sort of knowledge.

…

When he got home, he wasn't sure how to act around Hermione. He wanted to act normal, to remember his commitment to staying invested in rebuilding their relationship, but the other woman's name would not leave his brain.

Surely there had to be an explanation, right?

It occurred to him that perhaps Hermione might actually already know who Lindsay was – perhaps she was in on whatever secret this was. He decided to test her. While they were talking about plans for the Hogwarts reunion, he recounted what Ron and Harry had told him during pub trivia, when she had been focused on listing oceans in order of size by square miles.

"They mentioned that there's going to be a ball, so we should bring dress robes," he told her.

"Oh yes, that's a great reminder – I need to press mine tonight," she replied.

"And that the three of you are each giving speeches," he added.

"Yes… I'm so nervous about it. Mind if I practice for you in a bit?" she asked, reaching for her notecards.

"Sure," he agreed. How was he going to work this into the conversation?

"I noticed Neville's still single," he told her, switching tactics. "Did we ever try to set him up with anyone?"

Hermione was looking through her notecards for her speech, clearly distracted. It struck Draco that he could use this to his advantage.

"He went on a couple of dates with Pansy once, but they definitely weren't a match," she told him absently.

"Ron mentioned something about a girl named Lindsay and Neville went pink," he told her. It was a total lie, but he hoped that Hermione would be so distracted this weekend that she wouldn't follow up. In this moment, it seemed worth the risk.

"Hm," was the only response he got from Hermione, who grabbed a pen to make a quick edit.

"Do we know any Lindsays? I couldn't think of any." He thought he was being too obvious now, but he couldn't help himself.

Hermione looked up and chewed on the pen.

"No, I can't say that we know any Lindsays. It's not really a wizarding name. Perhaps she's a muggle?" Hermione asked.

Draco's stomach fell to his feet, but he didn't let his disappointment show.

"No matter," he told her, "let's hear that speech."

…

The next day was Friday. In the morning, Hermione headed out early to prepare for the weekend's events at Hogwarts. Draco speedread his book on botany and noted a few interesting tidbits that he could talk about to make it look like he really had spent the day studying up.

After lunch, however, it was time for his real agenda for the day. He was supposed to meet his mother at the Manor at 2:00, which left him a little time to check out both locations he now had addresses for: the shop in Diagon Alley and the address for "Lindsay."

He decided to start with the Diagon Alley address first. He apparated to the Hog's Head and tapped through the brick wall, emerging onto the familiar streets. He paused and took a deep breath, savoring the area's familiarity. Thankfully, little of Diagon Alley had changed in eight years.

He looked down at the address in his hand and started walking down the street in front of him.

When we arrived at the address, he looked up to read the sign at the top of the shop. It was a jewelry store. That surprised him. He decided to go in and see if he could learn anything while he was there.

He was greeted by a friendly, elderly clerk who clearly knew who he was. He also clearly hadn't heard what had happened to Draco in the past few weeks.

"Draco Malfoy, old chap, how's life these days? I haven't seen you in here in quite some time!" he said with a smile.

Draco instantly decided that the best way to not call attention to the fact that he was investigating this address was to play along and not let the clerk know anything about his missing memories. _Keep this as brief and forgettable as possible_ , he told himself.

"Oh, you know, busy as usual. I was just passing by and thought I'd stop in and say hi," Draco replied easily, putting his Slytherin charm to good use.

"Well it's good of you to stop by," the clerk said before launching into a fifteen-minute story about his recent back pain and the arthritis he was starting to develop in his knees. Draco nervously peeked at his watch.

Midway through the inane story, though, Draco caught a detail that seemed useful: the clerk mentioned Draco and Hermione's wedding as the last time he had properly been able to dance without feeling any pain in his joints.

Looking around, Draco decided to take a bit of a risk.

"Speaking of which, I have a friend looking to propose soon and he was asking me about rings, and I told him your shop was the place to go," Draco told him.

The clerk's response rewarded his risk.

"Well you would know, wouldn't you?" he said with a wink.

"Of course, seeing as you provided such beautiful rings for my wedding," he said carefully, making sure he was right by watching the clerk's expression.

The clerk nodded and Draco relaxed. Nothing odd here. But then the clerk said something that Draco did not expect at all.

"For both of your weddings, really."

Draco struggled to keep his jaw from falling to the floor.

 _Both of his weddings?_

He knew he couldn't betray any sense of surprise, but he also wasn't able to formulate any kind of reasonable reaction to this information. Luckily, the clerk sensed his discomfort and added "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me." He offered Draco another wink after the promise.

Draco shifted the subject immediately to happenings in Diagon Alley, trying anything to get back to more comfortable territory. After ten more minutes or so of polite conversation, he excused himself and exited the store, promising to stop by and chat more often (a promise he had no intention of keeping, if he was honest with himself).

Once he had left, he hurried down the street and ducked into a small alley so that he could catch his breath and process everything he had just heard.

 _Both of his weddings_ , the man had said. Draco had had two weddings. This man had just told Draco that he had been married twice.

This was certainly a piece of new information and Draco wondered just how many people were in on this secret.

He knew he didn't have long to stew, though, if he was going to check out the second address and still make it to his mother's on time. Suppressing his confusion and fear for the moment, he pulled the second address out of his pocket. He had done some research with a map that morning and found a nearby apparition point. He went there now, pausing for a moment before apparating to make sure he had his mind together. He didn't want to risk getting spliced, especially not in a suspicious location he would have to explain to everyone.

When he arrived, he surveyed his surroundings and turned to his left, walking down a neighborhood street. This was a small community with single-family homes made of a beige stone and well-kept front walks. It appeared to be a muggle neighborhood, given the number of cars, muggle playthings scattered outside, and pennants for muggle football teams proudly displayed in the windows.

After a few moments' walk, he found the street he was looking for and turned right onto it. He walked a block or so before stopping outside of the address written on the scrap of paper in his hand. He quickly transfigured the paper into something that looked like a mobile phone so that he could stand outside the house and pretend to talk on it to avoid attention. He was thankful Ron had had one at the pub the previous night, so he knew what they looked like.

As he pretended to hold a conversation on the phone, he surveyed the house in front of him. It appeared to be an ordinary family home: small, but cozy, with a single car garage and flowers planted out front. There was no car in the driveway or on the street, but it could have been in the garage.

Finally, after taking a moment to gather his courage, Draco put away the "phone" and headed for the door. He had to find out who Lindsay was if he was ever going to have any peace.

But, apparently, he wouldn't be finding out today. He rang the doorbell and knocked for a few minutes, but no one came to the door. No lights were on inside and he heard no voices. He had to assume that no one was home.

After vowing to return at a later point, perhaps that evening when she would be home from work, he headed back to the apparition point so that he could visit his mother.

…

Draco apparated to a spot about half a mile from the manor, intentionally setting himself up with the walk so that he could try to clear his mind. He hadn't really learned much that afternoon, but nothing that he had learned had set him at ease. He had apparently been married twice? And he still hadn't learned anything about "Lindsay," but the quiet home on the residential street seemed to confirm his worst fears.

He couldn't show any of this to his mother, though. He needed to be the picture of calm in front of her, because if she suspected anything, she would interrogate him until everything came out. He didn't want to tell anyone until he knew all of the facts and had a clear picture of why his memories had disappeared and what role, if any, he had played in it.

The walk did him good and, by the time he reached the Manor, he had managed to project a calm exterior. His mother greeted him warmly and welcomed him into the house for tea.

Narcissa and Draco caught up for at least an hour, talking about the plans for the weekend and what he had learned and seen over the past week. Draco told her all about Hermione's speech and Narcissa asked an annoying number of questions, but Draco kept his cool – he needed to keep the peace if he wanted to secure any information. He even tolerated her terrible music, which he recognized as the same variety Hermione listened to, and he remembered that they had bonded over it. He thought it must have been a great bond, seeing as how they were the only two people in the world still listening to muggle music from the 1970s.

He kept trying to think of what he could ask to get him closer to new information. He definitely didn't want to drop the name "Lindsay" in front of his mother and also didn't feel like "so how many times have I been married?" was an appropriate question either.

Finally, he decided to ask a question that had been on his mind for a long time anyway, and just sort of see where it led.

"Can we talk about Lucius?" he finally asked.

Narcissa gave him a sad sort of smile.

"I thought we might have to at some point," she said. She paused for a moment before continuing. "Of course, darling, we should talk about him."

"What happened? At the end, I mean," Draco asked.

Narcissa looked at her hands, which were folded neatly in her lap, and hesitated for a moment before starting to speak.

"It happened about six months after you came over with Hermione. It was May. The trees were just beginning to show buds and it seemed a time of such hope and rebirth. I know you never saw past Lucius's surface, but spring was his favorite season. He always developed a spring in his step as soon as April arrived."

Draco couldn't imagine the stern patriarch he had so feared having a favorite season and definitely had never seen him with a "spring in his step." Nevertheless, he let Narcissa continue.

"You never reconciled with him and he never met Hermione, well not after the two of you were dating, anyway. We both know how he had 'met' her years earlier… Anyway, during those six months I met the two of you about once a week or so for tea or dinner. I loved coming over and watching the two of you cook. You still resented me, as I've already told you, for staying with Lucius when he wouldn't even meet your girlfriend, but as I explained, he was dying, and I felt obligated to stay with him. You accepted that."

She paused here for a moment and stirred her tea, which had long gone cold. Draco recognized a singer's voice and listened for a moment to the song playing in the background. Something about it seemed familiar, but before he could think more about it, his mother continued, and her tone let him know that she was saying something worth paying attention to.

"And I guess I still loved him, in spite of everything. I know it doesn't make any sense, and I wouldn't have chosen it, but the heart acts in mysterious ways, and for some reason I still loved him, and couldn't imagine living my life without him."

Draco was taken aback at the confession. He had never seen his parents show affection. He had never heard them tell each other they loved each other, had never seen them kiss or even hold hands. And yet, he could tell that his mother spoke the truth here. It made him think of his parents differently and, for perhaps the first time, as adults.

"When things started getting really bad, in March or April, Lucius asked to meet with you. He wanted to clear the air and to achieve some sort of peace. You refused to meet with him," Narcissa told Draco. "I don't blame you, and you shouldn't blame yourself now either. You owed him nothing, and you had built your own life by then."

Draco wasn't sure how to feel. He remembered the letter in his pocket. He pulled it out and showed it to Narcissa.

"I found this in my dresser," he told her.

She gave him another sad smile.

"I gave you that after Lucius's death. After you wouldn't meet with him, he got very upset. It was perhaps the angriest I'd ever seen him. But then a few days later, he seemed to accept it. He locked himself in his study for several hours, and when he emerged, he asked me to give you that after he died. I told him that you wouldn't open it, but he told me there might come a day when you would. I guess that day hasn't come yet," she explained, noting that the envelope was still sealed.

"I wouldn't give him the satisfaction," Draco said bitterly.

"I believe that's exactly what you said when I gave it to you the first time," Narcissa replied.

Draco was more determined than ever, now, to never open that envelope – to never let Lucius win.

"There's an address written on the back," Draco added. "It leads to a jewelry store in Diagon Alley. Any idea why that would be on this envelope?" He hoped his questions didn't seem too suspicious, but he didn't need to worry: Narcissa didn't seem to notice a thing.

"I know exactly why it's there – I gave it to you," Narcissa told him. When Draco continued to stare at her, confused, she continued. "Your father died at the end of May. I begged you to come to his funeral, but you refused. I even offered to hold a private ceremony with just the two of us, but still you refused. And then, the day of the funeral, you arrived… with Hermione."

"I brought Hermione?" Draco asked in disbelief.

"Hermione brought you, to be more specific," Narcissa told him. "She knew it was important to you and that you would regret it if you missed it, so she brought you to his funeral."

"And the jewelry store?"

"You came to my house the day after the funeral and told me that you wanted to propose to Hermione. You told me you couldn't wait another day. So I gave you the address of the jewelry store – and it was also the day I passed on Lucius's letter, so I guess you wrote the address on the back."

"Why did I propose right after Lucius's funeral? We had been dating for less than a year at that point," Draco asked, trying to piece everything together. It struck him that he might have proposed to her simply to get even with Lucius, and the thought didn't sit well with him. It sounded like something he would have done, yet he hoped that wasn't the truth.

Narcissa sat thoughtfully for a moment.

"I think death has a way of making you appreciate the people and love in your life," she told him sincerely. "And as much as you despised me for staying by your father's side until the end, I think something about that did affect you and did make you think about the person you wanted to stick by your side at the end."

That also sounded like it could be right, but Draco couldn't let go of his earlier thought: trying to get revenge on his father seemed a much more familiar motive to him than learning deep lessons about love through death. But then again, he had changed a great deal in the years he couldn't remember, so it was difficult to assess what the true motive may have been.

He realized, then, that the music had stopped, and while his first feeling was relief, he found himself missing it a moment later.

Draco decided to push the conversation just a step further, to see if he could learn anything else.

"And before Hermione, I hadn't seriously been with anyone else? I hadn't, like, been married or anything like that?" he asked in a somewhat joking tone, trying to hide his real concern.

"Of course not," Narcissa told him dismissively. "I'm pretty sure you had never even set foot in a jewelry store before I gave you that address."

Suddenly, it occurred to Draco that if his mother had given him the address and he had immediately bought Hermione's ring, his "second" wedding would have had to have been… after that…

Now he was even more confused than ever.

He didn't want to show his mother that confusion, though, so he continued on with the conversation, letting the topic stray and turn to lighter subjects.

After another hour or so, he explained that he needed to pack for the weekend, said goodbye to his mother, and left.

He didn't head home, though – not yet. There was still some light in the sky, so he tried Lindsay's house again, wondering if she would be home now that the workday was over.

He met with no luck again, though, and left after five minutes of doorbell-ringing and knocking on her door.

He packed for the weekend when he got back to the flat and looked around some more, but he found no more clues relating to the mysterious "Lindsay," nor to a second marriage either before or after his current one. Finally, he fell into bed, exhausted both physically and mentally from the day's explorations, and fell asleep before he even had time to reflect on a minute of it.

Annoyingly, the music that had been playing at his mother's home floated through his dreams, except that at one point, he heard the same voices singing different songs, and something about one song in particular seemed to call to him, seemed to pull him towards something, but before he could make sense of it, the dream was over, his mind was moving on, and he had no choice but to follow along.

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Author's endnote: I call this the "escape room" chapter because I felt like I was building all of these cool clues and new questions. Also because I'm slightly obsessed with escape rooms. But seriously, everything here has an answer and it will all come together in the end.

I promise next chapter will have a bit more Dramione in it – I'm planning to include a flashback to their proposal and I'm really excited to write it, so hopefully that will keep readers happy :-)

Please read and review!


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

A/N: I'm having so much fun with these last few chapters. I can't wait for you all to see how this comes together and I'm anxious to hear whether you like it as much as I do! Thank you for all of the reviews and encouragement for the last chapter, even though the curveballs I threw were pretty big. Geez, apparently you throw a second wedding out there and people start to panic a bit…

Anyway, enjoy! And please review! I don't own any of this, I just enjoy playing!

Fair warning: this chapter includes spoilers for _Half-Blood Prince_ and _Deathly Hallows_. But really, if you haven't read those or seen those movies yet, what are you really doing here? Go read them!

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Chapter 9

Draco woke up on Friday morning somehow more tired than he had felt when he went to sleep the night before. He had slept restlessly, with fragments of sound and light seeming to try to alert him to something, but never just telling him what it was. It had been enormously frustrating, and when he woke up, he surveyed the room and counted the pillows he had thrown off the bed at various points: five. Also, why did they have so many pillows on their bed? Another thing about life with a woman that he would never understand.

Speaking of that woman, he knew that this weekend at Hogwarts was really important to Hermione, so he dragged himself out of bed, brewed some strong coffee, and took a long, hot shower. This helped his mood considerably, but he still took a pepper-up potion, just for an extra boost.

He apparated to Hogsmeade around 11:00, having chosen to forgo the typical train in favor of efficiency. He had dropped by Lindsay's house one more time beforehand, but again no one was home. He put her out of his mind for now, focusing instead on what was right in front of him. Walking the familiar streets of Hogsmeade, he smiled in the bright sunshine and inwardly felt grateful that the weather was perfect for their weekend away. The walk to Hogwarts was warm and pleasant, and he found himself recognizing some familiar faces along the way. Greg Goyle, along with his wife and children, was far ahead of him when he started the walk, but he caught up to them quickly and slowed his pace so that they could chat. Marigold reached for his hand, and, surprisingly, he didn't flinch at the (sticky) contact.

They also collected Cho Chang and her husband, Marcus Flint, as well as the Patil twins. By the time they entered the Hogwarts grounds, they had assembled a small crowd.

Draco smiled up at the old castle, positive memories flooding back to him. Time spent with friends, doing well in classes, escaping the disfunction of his parents' home… Hogwarts had always been a refuge for him. The crowd was directed out to the back lawn, where a picnic lunch was laid out and waiting for them.

As they walked across the warm grass, Draco spotted Hermione sitting with Harry and Ron on a picnic blanket. Hermione leapt to her feet and ran over to him, throwing her arms around his neck in an embrace that made it seem like they had been apart weeks, instead of one night. He found he didn't mind, though, and his arms linked naturally around her back.

Although the two of them only had eyes for each other, everyone else there noticed their embrace as well. Harry grinned at the reunion and Ginny, rejoining his side after her sixteenth trip to the restroom that day (the third trimester was really a bitch), shared in his smile. Ron was oblivious at first, but when he realized the significance of seeing Draco and Hermione happy together, he elbowed Harry in the ribs to point it out to him, as if Harry hadn't seen it for himself. Harry responded with a small roll of his eyes.

The picnic on the lawn was a lively affair, with former classmates greeting each other and talking through old memories. Draco appreciated conversations about the past that he could actually fully participate in, even if some of the recounted memories weren't his favorite to hear again.

"Watch out for hippogriffs, Malfoy," Ron told him at one point. Harry snickered at the memory of Buckbeak "attacking" Draco.

"You two laugh all you want, but I was in grave danger that day," Draco responded with a mock air of seriousness. "That lesson was entirely unsuited for third-years!"

"Hagrid was definitely one of our more interesting teachers," Hermione acknowledged.

"That's one way to put it. What's he doing nowadays?" Draco asked.

"Retired and living it up on a tropical island," Harry told him.

"Really?" Draco was surprised. "I would have thought he'd have been somewhere with more animals."

"Well, he was sort of… placed on the island. For everyone's safety," Harry acknowledged. "But he does genuinely enjoy it! And Norberta, the dragon he hatched, stops by every now and again for a visit."

"Hagrid hatched a dragon? When was this?"

"Our first year, of course! What were you doing?" Ron asked.

"Um, I don't know? Homework? Classes? You know, first-year things?" Draco replied snarkily.

They talked for hours without even realizing it and Hermione laid on her back on the blanket, staring up at the few clouds that had gathered in the sky. She closed her eyes and listened to the people she loved most recounting the happy days of her childhood. Of course, there had been unhappy days, too. Miserable, painful, excruciating days, and there would be time this weekend to revisit those as well and come to peace with them. But, for now, this was enough. It was the happiest afternoon she could remember.

…

That night, they all gathered in the Great Hall for a welcome-back feast, though many were still full from the picnic lunch. This was the event where Hermione would be delivering her toast and she wrung her hands ahead of time, cursing her nerves. Draco looked at her and smiled. He could tell that she was running through the words of her speech and could even see her lips moving slightly. He reached out and took her hands in his, much as he had at the doctor's office a few days earlier.

She looked at him and he could see the nervousness in her eyes.

"You're going to do great. You literally always do great. There's no way that you're not going to do great. And, if by some unbelievable chance of fate you do any less than great, you are in a room filled with people who love you and know how amazing you are, and who will love you just as much as they do now and think just as highly of you," Draco told her genuinely, though he sported a bit of a smirk.

She let out a deep breath that she hadn't even realized she had been holding.

"It's just such a big day, and I want to do it justice," she told him.

"I know, and you will. There's no one who could do it more justice." He picked up her hands and kissed them, bringing a smile to her face.

She sat back in her chair and he was pleased to see new confidence in her eyes.

Harry spoke first after everyone had finished their meals. He welcomed them all to Hogwarts for the weekend, joking that he was about to bring out the Sorting Hat and sort them all into dormitories so that they could begin school again. He recognized the retired faculty members who had gathered for the weekend's festivities, including Professor Slughorn, who had retired soon after the war, and Professors Sprout and Flitwick, who had retired the previous year. He thanked Headmistress McGonagall for allowing them to use the castle for the weekend's celebration.

And then he stopped on that word "celebration."

"I think it's important that we own that word this weekend," he announced confidently. "Because we are celebrating, and because we have much to celebrate. It is easy, when we are here and especially when we are commemorating the ten-year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, to remember what we have endured and who we have lost, and we should and will do that. But it's also a time for us to celebrate all that we have achieved. We have defeated the greatest threats to safety and equality in our time. We have continued the pursuit of social justice in the years after Voldemort's defeat."

He paused here, and looked around the room with a smile.

"We have assembled at these four long tables, with no regard as to who is a Hufflepuff, a Slytherin, a Ravenclaw, or a Gryffindor, with no regard as to who is a pureblood, a half-blood, a muggleborn, or any of those other meaningless categories. Instead, we are seated with our friends, neighbors, colleagues, and families. That is our greatest achievement. That is the triumph we toast tonight. We have broken barriers and we have established our school and our society as institutions dedicated to continuing that work. We have replaced fear with hope, hatred with camaraderie, ignorance with understanding. Ten years ago, we won the final battle of the war in this room, and we can and should celebrate that victory. But we also celebrate everything we've built in the decade since then, and the work we continue to do."

The room broke out into enraptured applause and at least half of the wizards and witches present dabbed at tears. Draco felt a new pang of appreciation for his former foe and realized, for the first time, that he was sitting at a Ravenclaw table that day. He chuckled to himself, recognizing Potter was correct.

Ron went next. He wasn't one for speeches, so he was given the task of reading the names aloud of everyone that had been lost in the war. Draco had to admit that Ron performed the task respectfully, and he appreciated the difficulty of reading his own brother's name from the list of the dead. Many of the names struck Draco's heart as well, particularly Professor Snape and his friend Vincent Crabbe.

After Ron had finished reading the list, the room held a long moment of silence for those they had lost before raising their glasses to them. Draco imagined his own mentor clinking his glass with his own, and the thought made him smile a little.

Finally, it was Hermione's turn to deliver her toast.

"When I first arrived at Hogwarts," she began, and although Draco could detect a slight shake in her voice, he could also tell that she was growing more confident with every word, "I knew that the thing I wanted, above all else, was to do well. I wanted to be sorted into the correct house, I wanted to impress my professors, I wanted to do well on all of my exams, and I wanted to receive the top marks in all of my classes. I felt insecure, coming from a non-magical family, and overcompensated by driving myself to exceed any expectations anyone could have for me."

Draco realized how much she was putting herself out there in this speech, admitting insecurities and vulnerabilities he was not even aware of.

"And I did do well, and I am proud of that. But, weirdly enough, when I look back on my days at Hogwarts, I don't really remember any of that," she confessed, and her chuckle was echoed by others throughout the room.

"I don't remember the specific lessons, or the homework assignments, or the essays, or the exams. I remember the adventures we had, the friendships we formed, and, most of all, the struggles in which we all willingly took part. What I can see now, ten years after leaving, is that the education we all received at Hogwarts was not one focused on doing well – it was one focused on doing _good_."

She paused here and swallowed hard.

"Sure, we learned how to brew Polyjuice potion, both in class and outside of it (several people in the crowd chuckled at this mention of her second-year exploits), and we mastered the art of transfiguring teacups into various small animals. But, above all, our professors instilled in us compassion, initiative, creativity, and dedication. And we instilled it in each other as well." Draco noticed many audience members nodding in agreement.

"The Battle of Hogwarts was, in a way, our final exam. It tested our abilities, our focus, and our character. And we came out victorious. We sacrificed much to get there, but we did it together, and we succeeded. I feel like even Professor Snape would give us an Outstanding mark for that battle," she added with a smile.

"So let's raise our glasses," she announced, raising her own, "To our school. To our teachers and mentors, our friends and classmates, and our lessons – both the ones that taught us to do well and the ones that taught us to do good. To Hogwarts," she declared.

Draco was at a loss for words after her speech. He felt so connected to her in that moment and just so… proud of her. He realized in that moment that he not only enjoyed her company and cared about her, but genuinely respected and admired her. And somehow, deep in the recesses of his heart, he knew that he loved her.

He raised his glass, but found he wasn't toasting Hogwarts. He was toasting her, and the man that he must have become to somehow deserve her.

…

Saturday was filled with different events and tours. The guests were treated to a tour of the now-reconstructed castle, and frequent grumbles regarding "how easy students have it these days" could be heard from various quarters. Hermione rolled her eyes at them – she couldn't even find a single difference between the castle of her youth and this one. The stairs still left you marooned when you were late for class, portraits still made fun of you when you tripped in the hallway, and the stone walls seemed just as dusty. It was perfect, really.

The whole group gathered after lunch for the dedication of a monument to the Battle of Hogwarts, placed outside the castle on the school grounds. The statue had been debated for years, as artist after artist tried to capture the spirit and meaning of that battle. Many wanted Harry Potter to be featured in some fashion, but Harry himself vigorously opposed this. The victory was everyone's, he claimed, and focusing on one individual undermined that.

In the end, the final monument was stunning. It depicted a surge of arms raised upward, with wands clenched in determined fists. The wands pointed at the sky, as if ready to cast a spell on the clouds themselves. There were 75 arms in total – one for each of the lives lost during the entire war. Some had wanted only a number matching the casualties of the final battle, but on this point Potter was also adamant. All sacrifices must be recognized, he argued, and he had prevailed.

It was hard to argue with him, after all.

Draco loved the statue and thought that it was perfect. It reminded the viewer of the sacrifice, while still emphasizing strength, determination, and solidarity.

After the dedication, Hermione slipped her hand into his and pulled him away.

"I have something I want to show you," she told him. He looked a bit nervous, and she quickly comforted him with "Don't worry, you'll still make it to the pick-up Quidditch game at 3:00."

Draco muttered a quick "phew" and Hermione rolled her eyes with a smile.

She led him down hallways and up staircases and he wondered just where they were going. When they got to the base of a familiar staircase, he felt anxiety growing in the pit of his stomach. He had never been able to look at the staircase to the Astronomy Tower the same after Dumbledore's death… and after the role he had played in that great man's demise.

He knew now, of course, that Dumbledore's death had been arranged with Snape ahead of time, but it didn't do much to soften the memory of perhaps the most horrifying night of his young life.

Still, he swallowed his anxiety and followed Hermione up the stairs.

When they emerged on the tower, he had to admit that the view was incredible, particularly on such a beautiful day. Somehow he was able to set aside his memories for the moment and just enjoy being there with Hermione.

She stood at the railing, gazing over the beautiful grounds. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"This view is stunning," he told her, placing a kiss below her ear in the process. "Thank you for bringing me here."

Hermione spun in his arms and smiled.

"I agree that the view is stunning, but that's now why I brought you here."

Draco arched an eyebrow in confusion and interest.

"I know that this tower has been significant to you, but what you might not know is that it is also quite significant to _us_."

Hermione led Draco to a small table where a pensieve had been placed.

"I brought this up here earlier and thought I could show you one of my favorite memories while we're here," she explained.

"And what memory is that?" Draco asked.

"Well, let's just watch and find out," she responded with a smirk.

They both smiled as they descended through the mist into the memory.

As the fog settled and the memory crystallized around them, Draco looked around, trying to put everything together. He saw himself and Hermione walking down a stone hallway. They were in Hogwarts – he recognized the suit of armor on the left. His theory was confirmed when he saw Headmistress McGonagall walking with them.

"Thank you again for coming. I think this program will be well-received by the students next year and I'm looking forward to our partnership," McGonagall told them, shaking their hands.

"What were we doing at Hogwarts?" Present-Draco asked Hermione.

"We were there to talk about a new internship program for sixth- and seventh-year students at Malfoy Magical – you were hoping to recruit promising young Potions and Herbology students."

They watched their past selves thank Minerva for having them and exchange other polite pleasantries.

As they turned to leave, McGonagall caught Past-Draco's arm lightly.

"I am sorry for your loss, Draco. I know that your relationship with your father was complicated, but he was still your father, and I know this is still a difficult time for you," she told him gently.

Past-Draco politely accepted her condolences, but Present-Draco could tell that he did not want to talk about Lucius.

"This was a couple of weeks after Lucius's death," Present-Hermione whispered to Present-Draco.

"You don't have to whisper during a memory, you know," he told her with a smirk.

"I always forget about that," she admitted.

They watched their past selves walk down the hallway to leave, but suddenly Past-Draco stopped Past-Hermione.

"I have one more thing I need to do before we leave. Will you come with me?" he asked her.

"Of course," Past-Hermione agreed, and she followed him down another corridor.

Present-Draco and Hermione followed their past selves to the same staircase they had just climbed – the one to the astronomy tower. It felt a bit trippy, Draco had to admit, to make the same walk several minutes – and years – apart simultaneously.

He watched his past self, excited to see what memory this was, but also curious to see if he could pick up on any clues that could help him unravel the mystery of how he lost his memory.

He could tell that his past self was definitely nervous, and that wasn't comforting. He was barely looking at Hermione and seemed to be having trouble swallowing.

Draco almost wondered if this was going to be a sad memory, but he knew Hermione wouldn't have showed him it if it was. Still, he wasn't the only one picking up on his nerves – Past-Hermione also watched him anxiously. At one point, she reached for his elbow and asked him if he was ok. Past-Draco assured her he was and took a deep breath.

Present-Draco and Hermione watched their past selves survey the Hogwarts grounds from the view, just as they had moments before.

Finally, Past-Draco turned to Past-Hermione and took her hands in his. Present-Draco felt the moment building and his own heart rate speed up. Present-Hermione reached for his hand.

"I brought you here today because I have to ask you something, and I feel like I have to ask you here," Past-Draco began. Past-Hermione replied with only a puzzled expression.

"This is a difficult place for me to revisit, and I know that you know that," he continued, still not making full eye contact and shuffling his feet nervously.

"This tower is the site of one of the worst nights of my life – maybe the worst, when it comes down to it. When I came to this tower that night in sixth year, I felt like I had no control over my own life. I had no choice but to fulfill the will of that psychopath. I had no way out, no way forward. All I could do was follow orders and try to survive," he told her.

"You know none of what happened that night was your fault," Past-Hermione reassured him.

"I know, but even with the knowledge of Dumbledore and Snape planning the whole thing and everything that came afterward, I still remember how empty I felt that night, and how low."

He paused here, and he looked up, making eye contact for the first time.

"But I also recognize that that night was a turning point for me. It was the night I decided to leave my parents and join the Order, and I started planning as soon as I got home, though I couldn't leave until my trace disappeared. But that night changed my life, and it wasn't Dumbledore's death, although that was also traumatic – but it was what he told me before his death."

Here, Past-Hermione looked curious, and Present-Draco could tell that he had not told her this part of the story. He remembered this all vividly, and as he watched his past self tell the tale, it all came back to him crystal-clear.

"I came to this tower that night," his past self explained, "to kill Albus Dumbledore. I felt that I had no power, no choice, and no way out. And he knew that was why I was there. And, in spite of that, he still spent his last moments on this earth talking to me and preparing me. That night, Dumbledore talked to me about choices. He told me that we all have choices in this life, and at first I disregarded him, because really, what choice did I have? But as he started talking about a young man who made all the wrong choices, it occurred to me that he was right. Tom Riddle was a mortal who made choices. Voldemort wasn't this unconquerable force of evil – he was a human being who made horrible, evil choices. And he would only be defeated if others made just as powerful choices."

"I entered the tower that night feeling as if I had no choice but to be there, but when I left, I knew otherwise. I knew that choice was the most powerful weapon I had left, and one that I could and must yield. So I did," he told her.

"And you contributed so much to the Order," Hermione told him with a smile.

"I like to think that I did," Draco replied humbly. "I can see now that the choices I made in those early days were pivotal and set me on the course that helped me remake my life."

"So you see," he said, turning to look at the tower again, this time with a small smile. "This was the site of the worst night of my life, but every day and night after that has been better, specifically because of that night."

"I'm glad you brought me here and told me this," Hermione told him kindly.

"I'm happy to share this with you," Draco told her honestly, "But it's not why I brought you here. I asked you to come here with me tonight because I'm ready to make another choice that will fundamentally alter the path of my life, and I need you to make this choice with me. And I couldn't think of a better place to ask you."

Past-Hermione gasped with the realization of what was happening, and Present-Draco felt Present-Hermione suck in a breath in the exact same moment, almost as if she was so caught up in the scene that she was forgetting she had already lived this memory.

He watched his past self sink to one knee and produce a small box from his pocket. He felt tears prick his eyes and, without even thinking about it, wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulders and kissed her forehead.

He watched his past self propose to the love of his life, telling her that he had spent his life trying to become a person that would be worthy of someone like her and that he couldn't imagine a happier life than one spent with her. He watched his hand tremble as he took the ring out of the box. He listened as Past-Draco asked Past-Hermione if she would spend the rest of her life with him, and waited with baited breath for her answer, as if he didn't already know the ending.

She said yes, of course, and Past-Draco twirled Past-Hermione around in the air, kissing her deeply and burying his hands in her hair when they stopped spinning.

Present-Hermione reached for her husband's hand and smiled, pulling them both out of the memory.

When they arrived on the astronomy tower again, they were both quiet for a moment, overwhelmed by what they had seen.

"Thank you so much for showing me that," Draco told her honestly. He wanted to interrogate the memory for clues or deeper meanings, to taunt himself with thoughts like "I wonder if your second proposal was just as beautiful since you had two weddings, you jackass," and to obsess over every detail, but somehow, he just couldn't bring himself to do any of that.

Because standing in front of him was the most perfect woman he had ever met, and, if he was being totally honest with himself, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her just as much as his past self had the last time they had stood on this astronomy tower.

With no other thoughts in the world, he took her face in his hands and kissed her as if he had just proposed, as if she had just said yes, and as if they had the rest of their lives to spend together.

…

Draco did get to the Quidditch pick-up game that afternoon, but he couldn't focus on anything. All he could see was the emotion in his past self's eyes when he had looked at Hermione.

That was real. There was no mistaking it. He knew he was grief-stricken after Lucius's death, but surely that proposal was genuine. He really and truly wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

And Hermione was so smart and astute – surely she would have realized if he was only proposing out of some need to get even with Lucius – she would have known him well enough to see that.

He ducked to his left, narrowly avoiding a bludger (some alumni had wanted to skip the bludgers during their pick-up game, but he and Potter had enforced strict authenticity), and decided that he needed to focus on the game before he rendered himself unable to dance – or walk – that night.

After two hours or so, the players packed up and headed back to the castle to prepare for the evening's ball. Draco walked back up to the castle with Harry; their wives had stayed behind to catch up and relax a bit.

Draco told Harry about the memory he had seen that morning.

"Is it weird?" Harry asked, "Watching these memories of yourself that you don't remember?"

"It is a bit," Draco confessed. "Especially this one, because in the memory I was recounting something that I do remember, but I had no memory of what we watched in the memory itself. I remember the thing I was describing, but I don't remember describing it."

Harry stared at him, confused for a moment, but eventually worked it out.

"Is it weird to be around a guy who doesn't remember the last eight years?" Draco asked.

"Not as weird as you would think," Harry told him. "You were always pretty forgetful. Blew me off the last three times we were supposed to get lunch, never returned my owls, that sort of thing."

"Yeah, I don't think that's the memory, Potter," Draco told him with a smirk. "I think I just don't like you that much."

"Oh yeah, that's it," Harry agreed, rolling his eyes. "Don't forget you're my – "

"Fourth best friend," Draco interrupted with a grin. "Yes, Potter, I remember. See, my memory can be quite good when I want it to be," he told him.

…

The ball that night put their fourth-year Yule Ball to shame, primarily because they were now all of drinking age and didn't need to rely on the Weasley twins spiking the punch with something gross and cheap. Now, the wine and champagne poured freely, and everyone (minus Ginny) enjoyed the libations.

In the center of the room, a glittering tower of magically-enchanted champagne flutes stood twinkling and spinning – a perfect centerpiece for a grand celebration.

Draco and Hermione danced the night away. They weren't the only ones, either. Draco watched as unlikely couples took to the floor all around them. There was Michael Corner dancing with Millicent Bulstrode. Lavender Brown and Justin Finch-Fletchley had apparently been married for two years. Everywhere he looked, Draco saw classmates together whom he would never in a million years have thought could even stand each other. It made him realize that he and Hermione were not that unlikely of a pair after all.

At one point, Hermione saw Neville, and told Draco that she was going to go ask him about that girl he was maybe seeing, but Draco quickly distracted her with a question about the current status of Hogwarts house elves and she completely forgot her previous goal. He paid for it, though – 25 minutes worth of description.

He held Hermione in his arms during one slow song toward the end of the night and couldn't shake the feeling of just how lucky he was. There was no way he would have done anything to sacrifice this life – he was just sure of it.

Hermione looked up at him and he reached a hand out to tuck a stray wisp of hair behind her ear.

"What are you thinking?" he asked her.

"I'm thinking about how perfect this weekend has been, and how much we needed it," Hermione told him.

"I was thinking about that too," Draco replied with a smile.

"I know that this weekend is supposed to be about the war, but in a way, it feels like a reunion for us too," she added.

The song ended, but Draco heard the notes of another slow one beginning, so he kept his arms around his wife, content to spend the rest of the evening just like this.

Hermione perked up in his arms and looked around. Draco followed her gaze curiously.

"Who requested this song?" she asked with a smile. "Maybe it was Harry?"

Draco paused and listened to the music. It had a vintage feel – like the music Hermione and his mother liked – and he could tell it was one of her favorites, just by how she was acting. He listened as the vocals started and heard the Carpenters singing, but that didn't help him understand what the big deal was.

"What song is this?" he asked. As he said it, though, he realized that something about it sounded very familiar – he couldn't explain why, but somehow it seemed to click in his mind. Hermione opened her mouth to tell him what song it was…

But then, several things happened all at once.

Harry had indeed requested the song, but as he walked over to Hermione to tell her that, he bumped into Neville, who stepped a few paces out of the way and onto a puddle in the center of the floor.

The puddle was Ron's fault, really, because he had had one too many drinks and had spilled the last one while trying to look at his watch for the time. After he spilled, his only focus was on obtaining another beverage, and not on cleaning up the one that now lay splashed across the floor. Ginny thought about cleaning it up, but she was so large that she could barely bend over to tie her own shoes, so she quickly decided that that mess was really someone else's responsibility.

So it really wasn't Neville's fault at all, although some attendees pointed out the next day that many people had walked through the spill without sliding the whole way across the dance floor as Neville had. And he could have watched where he was going a little more carefully.

And it wasn't so much that he slipped – it was what happened afterwards. He didn't just fall down gracefully, or even just fall down ungracefully. Instead, he slid across the entire floor, landing in the center of the room.

What stopped his slide, of course, was the enormous floating collection of crystal champagne flutes, which collapsed with one of the loudest noises anyone in the room had ever heard.

For a moment, the room was completely silent. Broken glass and champagne was everywhere and no one wanted to move, for fear of stepping on a shard. Neville stood up, cut and bruised but clearly alive and mostly unharmed.

Nobody could think of what to say, but luckily Ron redeemed himself, springing into the center of the room and drunkenly shouting "We did it, we bashed them, wee Potter's the one!"

"And Voldy's gone moldy, so now let's have fun!" The rest of the room shouted in unison, echoing Peeves' famous celebration. Said-poltergeist had been banished to the dungeons for the weekend, but upon hearing his most famous declaration, used all of his spiritual force and energy to break free.

He burst into the ballroom, spinning and shouting. He picked up trays of uneaten appetizers and began hurling them at the guests. He didn't dislike them, and was genuinely happy they were there, but it had been so long since he could get into such mischief, and they all looked so nice. And in quoting him, weren't they really welcoming this type of havoc?

The guests screamed and ran for cover, while Harry laughed and declared the ball over – it was supposed to end in ten minutes anyway.

"So not quite a perfect weekend," Hermione declared after they had escaped the chaos of the Great Hall. She had completely forgotten about the final song, both because of the party's raucous ending and the six glasses of wine she had consumed that night.

"I think this just made it better," Draco replied with a laugh, also forgetting the song.

They headed back to their guest room, where they fell asleep almost instantly after all of the day's activities. With their last moments awake, Draco turned to Hermione, snaking his arm around her and pulling her close.

"Did you ever think about saying no?" he asked. He didn't need to explain that he was talking about their proposal: they both immediately knew what he was referring to.

"Not for a second," Hermione told him.

"We hadn't even dated a year," he reminded her.

"I would have said yes on our second date," she replied with a yawn.

He chuckled at that, adding that their first date must surely have been impressive then, but she was already asleep and couldn't respond to his cheek.

…

The sun dawned brightly the next morning, and Draco was glad he had packed headache potion in preparation for the aftermath of the festivities. Hermione was thankful that he had packed extra for her.

The morning was spent packing and squeezing in last-minute chats with people they hadn't managed to catch up with during the weekend. There were so many promises to get lunch or hang out on a Saturday that Draco thought their calendar would be packed for the rest of the year.

Hermione asked him to take a postcard to the Owlery so that she could send a note to Luna, who was still abroad and couldn't make the celebration. He walked the halls of the castle smiling to himself and enjoying the sunshine pouring through the windows. So many of his memories of Hogwarts involved rain and snow: it was almost odd to be here in nicer weather.

It had been a perfect weekend, really. Even the chaotic ending of the previous evening added a note of hilarity to everything. Nothing had seemed amiss with Hermione or anyone else. In watching their proposal, he remained more convinced than ever that they had genuinely been in love. And he hadn't met anyone named Lindsay all weekend, so that was a bonus.

And then, when he was walking along a hallway near the Charms classroom, he was hit by a memory: a strong, clear memory.

Except, it wasn't a memory from the past eight years. It was one from the Battle of Hogwarts, ten years earlier.

He had arrived at the castle with the Order, knowing that he would be facing his old allies who were now his adversaries, including his own family. Still, he had signed up for this, and he wouldn't miss this final battle.

For a long time, he hadn't seen Lucius. Draco had been positioned near the Battlements above the Great Hall and had fought with Dolohov, Scabior, and a number of others whose names he had never known. He didn't mind not seeing Lucius: he didn't particularly want to, particularly if that run-in would involve a battle. He wasn't sure how he and his father would duel, and didn't want to experience it if he could help it.

Once their position seemed secure, Lupin told him that the Owlery needed reinforcements, so Draco ran there as quickly as he could, running along this very corridor.

When he reached this point in the hallway, his worst nightmare had come true: Lucius, standing alone, directly in front of him.

Draco stopped short and held his wand aloft warily, staring at his father.

Lucius looked taken aback for a moment, but quickly settled into his dueling stance.

"So it has come to this," the patriarch announced.

"Get out of my way," Draco told him.

" _You're_ in _my_ way," Lucius replied.

"I don't have time for this," Draco told him, and he tried to push past his father, but Lucius waved his wand and Draco fell backward.

"Are we doing this then?" Draco asked, standing up and whipping a curse at Lucius, though his father easily ducked it.

"You would fight your own father for those mudbloods and traitors?" Lucius sneered.

"I would fight anyone for my friends and my alliance," Draco declared proudly.

"You have turned your back on everything I taught you," Lucius told him.

"Gladly," Draco replied with cheek. "Now get out of my way, or I will not hesitate."

Lucius seemed thoughtful for a moment before reaching into his robes. Draco watched warily, not letting his wand waver.

Lucius produced a small vial holding some sort of liquid. He tossed it to Draco, who caught it, worried that if it shattered on the ground the contents would harm him.

"What is this?" he asked Lucius.

"It's a way out, should you choose it," his father told him, carefully choosing his words. "When you wake up one day and realize how big of a mistake you've made with all of this, you'll thank me for it, trust me."

Draco rolled his eyes impatiently at his father and shoved the vial into his pocket. He ran past him and kept running to the Owlery, where he fought bravely until the news of Potter's supposed death pulled everyone outside.

Now, Draco stood in the empty hallway, still filled with sunshine after a lovely reunion weekend, and gripped the wall as the clarity of the memory washed over him.

He had always been proud of both his father and himself for not battling each other that day. In fact, it was the only reason he had agreed to speak to his father after the war – until the incident with the Graphorn, he now knew.

But, now it wasn't that part of the memory that had his attention: it was that stupid vial.

He knew, now, that he had had a means to erase his memory. It was there, right in front of him. That was what his father had meant that day – and apparently he had taken him up on the offer a decade later.

He tried to remember what he had done with that vial after the war. Surely he had disposed of it, right? And yet, he knew he hadn't. He remembered exactly where he kept it in that old bachelor flat.

He stood still in the hallway and, as a cloud rolled across the sun, he thought it was a perfect symbol of what had just happened to his spirit.

This changed everything.

.

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Author's Note: I promise this is the last chapter that will end on a sad/scary note – from here, things start to pick up and there will be answers! But dang, things seem dark right now, don't they?

A couple of citations – I used the movie version of the Draco/Dumbledore/Astronomy Tower scene, because the dialog fit my story better. Sacrilegious, I know. Also, the Peeves quote is a direct quote from p. 746 of _Deathly Hallows_.

I hope you liked this chapter, even if it might have felt a bit like filler. I enjoyed writing the speeches and planning the monument – and I thought the whole reunion weekend really grounded Draco in the present-day. There are also a few clues scattered through this chapter, believe it or not!


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

A/N: Sorry for the delay here – I'm in grading hell right now. This chapter is a bit shorter than I expected, but I'm still pretty happy with it. Happy reading, and of course I don't own any of this.

And a HUGE thank you to everyone who has reviewed this piece! Your comments really motivate me to keep writing!

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Chapter 10

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Hermione was exhausted after the reunion weekend at Hogwarts and, when they got home, took a shower and settled into a lazy evening of catching up on her reading.

Draco was also exhausted, but couldn't find a way to settle himself. All he could see every time he closed his eyes was Lucius extending that vial to him, and himself taking it and putting it in his pocket. He told Hermione he was going to go for a walk in the park to stretch his legs and she smiled and told him that sounded like a great idea.

He didn't go to the park, though. He headed straight for Lindsay's house. He still needed answers, and that was the biggest remaining question.

No one there. Again. He was starting to lose his mind.

…

Monday did nothing to alleviate his anxiety. He and Hermione were meeting the doctor one final time on Tuesday to examine his brain and decide on a course of action. He already knew that they were going to find no good news. It was the next part that was worrying him.

He had no reason to want to leave Hermione, when he just looked at the facts. His life with her was happy – happier than any future he could have ever imagined for himself. He had a fulfilling relationship, promising career, bizarre talent for gardening… there was no way he would willingly walk away from all of that.

And yet.

Deep in his heart, he knew that he could not stay with Hermione unless he felt himself totally committed to her. She deserved more, and he respected and valued her enough to recognize that. She deserved a man who would be all in, who would have no reservations about loving her, and who would never doubt that their relationship was what he wanted.

Could Draco be that man?

Could he be sure?

There was still so much he didn't know. Who was Lindsay and what role had she played in his life? Why had the jeweler said that thing about his two weddings? And had he used that potion Lucius had given him at the Battle of Hogwarts to erase his own memories? Without answers to those questions, he didn't know if he could, in good conscience, stay with Hermione. He knew he would never stop wondering what had happened.

He slipped out of work four times on Monday to check Lindsay's house. He wore an invisibility cloak, so that the neighbors wouldn't call the police on the strange man that kept turning up on the corner.

No one was home.

By the end of the day on Monday, he was positive he was developing a hernia. He had no idea what he was going to do and every time he tried to make a decision, he nearly had a panic attack.

Hermione picked up on his anxiety that evening at home, and he hated seeing her chew on her bottom lip, worrying about his mood.

She shouldn't have to worry at all. She should be with a man who loved her and knew that he loved her and remembered that he loved her.

Yes, that was definitely a hernia.

Every time Hermione spoke to him, even just to ask an innocuous question, Draco jumped a few inches in the air and looked slightly manic.

Hermione could tell that the next day was weighing on him, but in her heart, she wasn't all that worried. This was her Draco, and she knew that he loved her, and that they would somehow find their way back to each other in the end. She was confident in their love, and in him.

She didn't know that he lay awake all night, that his heart pounded furiously as the minutes ticked by, that he was breaking into a cold sweat even though the house was a comfortable temperature.

She didn't know that he was deliberating perhaps the most important decision he had ever made.

She didn't know that he still didn't have a decision, that he couldn't bring himself to make the decision that he knew was the right one to make.

As Draco stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom in the hours between twilight and dawn, he felt many things.

Anger, at whoever had taken his memories away – and even more anger, knowing that it might have been himself.

Mourning, for the life he had somehow built for himself, that now would never be the same again.

Loneliness, because he didn't seem to fit in this world, and the one he knew was long past.

Fear, over what the next day would bring.

…

He managed to sneak in one more visit to Lindsay's house Tuesday morning before the doctor's appointment, but of course she wasn't home. He was starting to doubt whether anyone really lived in that house, but he had no other leads, and nowhere else to turn.

The doctor's appointment wasn't a surprise. He found no progress with Draco's brain, and was unable to offer any further advice or recommendations.

Hermione bravely asked him what the chances were of Draco ever recovering his memories. The doctor pushed the question away, explaining that it's hard to ever assign a number to that, but Hermione interrupted again. What was his professional opinion?

Less than 1%. Draco suspected he was being generous.

They were both quiet when they returned home. Even the house seemed to be in silent mourning. Finally, after a long awkward moment, Hermione turned to Draco resolutely.

"Well that's it then. It's not a surprise – neither of us expected that visit to go any differently. But we can still make it through this, Draco. I'm not giving up on you – I'm not giving up on us."

Draco held her in his arms, saying nothing, and they both cried. He stroked her hair.

She talked on about plans: showing him more memories, moving somewhere new and starting over together… he wasn't really listening.

In that moment, holding her, he knew what he had to do. It was the only thing he could do, really. The only thing she deserved.

And for the first time in his memory, he cared more about what someone else deserved than about what he deserved. Something in his brain marked how significant that was, and he credited it to the incredible woman in his arms.

He took a deep breath and enjoyed the last time he would ever hold her.

…

Hermione had to slip out that afternoon to meet with a client who refused to reschedule. When she returned home, she called out to Draco, asking what he wanted to do for dinner. She hung up her jacket, continuing to talk aloud, and mentioned a new cafe that had just popped up near Gringotts.

She realized he wasn't replying.

She went to the table to set down her purse and found his note.

The handwriting immediately brought back positive memories of all of the other notes and postcards he had written her, but somehow she knew immediately that this was not going to resemble them.

 _Hermione,_

 _I'm taking the coward's way out by leaving you this letter, I know, but I couldn't stand to tell you in person that I was leaving – there's a reason I'm not a Gryffindor. Please know that this has nothing to do with you. These past two weeks have been some of the best times of my life – that I remember anyway – and I am confident that the life we built together is something worth fighting for. I just need to make sure that I'm the right man to fight alongside you – to fight for us._

 _I need some time away to sort through all of this – to make sense of these past two weeks and to decide what I want to do. I'm sorry that I can't offer you more, especially when you've given me so much. I won't be taking my wedding ring off while we are apart, and it would mean the absolute world to me if you were to continue to wear yours, though I know I don't deserve it._

 _I'm not giving up on us, but I need some time and space before I can commit to the rest of our lives. I will reach out when I am ready to talk. I'm so sorry, Hermione. Sorry that I can't be there for you, that I can't be the man that you knew and loved and married – but I promise that I will do whatever I can to become that man. I just need to do it on my own right now._

 _Love,_

 _Draco_

He was gone.

…

That night, Draco sat in one of the sterile guest rooms at Malfoy Manor. His mother had taken him in, albeit reluctantly, and had honored his wishes to leave him alone for the rest of the evening (even more reluctantly).

The walls were a cold grey. Draco considered turning them the beachy color of his bedroom at Hermione's house, but didn't know if he deserved it.

He surveyed what he had brought with him: a suitcase he had packed with clothing and toiletries, a small bag with important documents, books, and other small objects, and his briefcase for work.

He decided to distract himself with work and read up on the proposal he was supposed to be reviewing with Neville the next day.

He rummaged through the briefcase for the file, but his hand closed on a picture frame instead.

Instantly, he remembered what it was. It was the photograph from his desk of himself and Hermione that he had dropped into his briefcase to look at more later.

He pulled it out now and slid the photograph out of the frame, trying to get closer to it somehow.

In the moving image, Draco and Hermione sat on a couch. Hermione's hair was piled into a messy bun and she wore a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The Draco in the photograph smiled warmly at her and draped his left arm around her shoulders. Hermione looked up at him and snuggled her head into his shoulder, laughing at some joke not captured on the image.

The Draco in the photograph smiled and kissed Hermione on the forehead before turning toward the camera – and toward the present-day Draco, viewing the image.

It was the look in his eyes that had arrested Draco the day he had first seen this image and that had made him slip it into his briefcase to look at it later.

Draco looked at those eyes now, and finally understood what it was.

It was happiness.

He was looking at an expression of happiness on his face that he had never seen before in his life. He read peace, confidence, and bliss in the expression of the young blonde man. He hadn't recognized it before because it had seemed so foreign – he had no memories of ever being as happy as he looked in that picture.

Draco realized in that moment that he had never envied anyone more in his life than he did this past version of himself in this photograph.

He had never known this happiness, and now he had no memory of it. He stared at the photograph and felt tears prickle in his eyes.

He had had this. He had lived this amazing life, and now it was gone. And he didn't even have memories of it to turn back to.

Had he deserved it? Did he deserve it still? Did it matter?

He vowed that night, looking at that photograph, to find answers, for the unbelievable young woman in the picture, but also for the young man, whom Draco didn't want to give up on just yet.

He fell asleep dreaming of the woman who, many miles away, fell asleep dreaming of him.

…

Two weeks later, Harry Potter entered the Tipsy Phoenix around 3:00 and scanned the bar, looking for one person in particular. It was a Wednesday afternoon, so the place was pretty empty, and he spotted Draco without much trouble.

As he got closer to his friend, he grew unnerved at his appearance. Draco sat with his shoulders hunched, radiating defeat. His head was in his left hand, while the other one seemed to be clutching something in his lap. Harry did notice that he still wore his wedding ring, which gave him a sliver of hope. Draco's normally perfect hair was unkempt – not enough to make him look crazy, but noticeable to the friend who so often made fun of him for his perfectly coifed hair.

Harry wanted to feel anger looking at Draco, but he couldn't somehow. What he really felt was pity, and general sadness. He loved both Hermione and Draco and knew that this was neither of their faults.

He sunk into the chair next to Draco.

Draco looked up and rolled his eyes.

"Should have figured you'd turn up here," he told Harry. "Did Hermione send you?"

"Neville, actually," Harry replied. "He says you haven't been coming to work that much these past few weeks and that, when you are there, it's hard to get you to concentrate on anything."

"I'll pull it together," Draco assured him, raking his fingers through his hair.

"No one's mad," Harry told him gently. "We're just worried, that's all."

Draco pushed back a bit and laughed sarcastically, the sound of it causing Harry's concern to grow even more.

"Why on earth would you be worried about me, Harry Potter? It's not like I just lost literally everything and everyone in my life."

Harry narrowed his eyes at the shot glass in front of Draco.

"How many of those have you had, Malfoy?" he asked.

Before Draco could answer, though, the bartender interrupted and answered for him.

"None. He's sat here for four hours in front of that one shot glass. And his mood is scaring away the rest of my customers."

"Oh yeah, like this place is normally packed on a Wednesday morning," Draco added sarcastically.

"Afternoon," Harry corrected him.

"What does it matter," Draco replied quietly.

A moment passed and neither was sure what to say.

"Look, Potter, I know you're pissed at me, and I get it. I screwed up. I hurt Hermione. But, believe it or not, I am actually doing this _for_ her," Draco told him.

"I'm not here for Hermione," Harry said, "I'm here for you."

Draco ignored his reply and brought out the thing he'd been clutching in his lap. Harry immediately recognized the photograph of Draco and Hermione on their sofa and also noted that it looked slightly battered, as if it had been held a lot recently.

"Can you tell me when this is from?" Draco asked.

"That's from the day you moved in together," Harry told him. "You had been engaged for a month or so, and your leases were both up on your flats, so you bought the house that you live in now – or did until recently," Harry explained, catching himself.

Draco was quiet for another long moment. When he did speak again, Harry could barely hear him, because he spoke in a voice just above a whisper.

"Was I really this happy, Potter? Like _this happy_?"

"Yes, you were," Harry told him sincerely. "I swear on Severus Snape's grave that you were."

Draco clenched his eyes, willing the tears of exhaustion and emotion to stay there.

"I would fight an entire second war to be able to remember that," he told Harry. "I know that Hermione is hurting and torn up, and I don't envy her, but at least she still has these moments. At least she knows that it was real."

At that moment, Harry realized just how broken Draco Malfoy was. He had never seen his friend so low – had never seen anyone this low. He didn't know how to respond.

"It was real, and it could still be real," Harry said finally. "Why don't you just go back to her, Malfoy? Try to make this work? Hermione says you two were really getting along during those couple of weeks after the accident."

"Do you think that I don't think about that every day, Potter? We did more than get along," Draco told him. He paused for a moment, seeking out the perfect words for what he wanted to say next. "I can't remember loving her, I can't remember this day on the couch, I can't remember that happiness – but somehow, my body and my brain and my heart _know_ that I still love her."

"Then why are you here and not with her, trying to make this work?" Harry asked, incredulously.

"Because you don't know the whole story, Potter," Draco said quietly.

"What's the whole story, Draco?" Harry asked.

Another long moment of silence.

"I learned a few things, during those couple of weeks… things that I can't totally explain yet, but that lead me to believe that Hermione would be much better off without me," Draco told him finally.

"I seriously doubt that," Harry replied honestly. "What things?"

"You don't want to know."

"I obviously do – it's why I asked."

"There are too many missing pieces, too many loose ends," Draco explained.

"Like a mystery?" Harry countered.

"Definitely that," Draco agreed.

"Hello? Solving mysteries is like literally my entire thing. Like this is what I'm here for. That and defeating the most evil wizard of all time," Harry told him.

Draco grinned for the first time in weeks and thought he heard his cheeks crack at the unfamiliar motion.

"If I tell you these things, can I get you to agree not to tell anyone until after I've sorted them out?" Draco asked.

Harry agreed without hesitation.

"So there are a few things," Draco began. "The first is that the doctor told me privately that he doesn't think this was caused by a spell – he thinks it was caused by a potion."

"Someone slipped you a potion?" Harry asked.

"The doctor doesn't think that's likely – it would have had to be such a large dose, and I'm a trained potioneer. I would have noticed it."

"So… you're saying…"

"The doctor thinks I took it myself," Draco told him succinctly. It actually felt good to be talking to someone about this – unloading all of his anxieties and frustrations.

"Why on earth would you have done that?" Harry asked.

"That's what I've been trying to figure out. Unfortunately, there are a couple of other clues that point to… cataclysmic reasons," Draco told him.

Draco told him about looking through his agenda and Rita's, about finding the fifteen or so meetings that didn't align, and about finding the name "Lindsay" in his own agenda. He told him about his many trips to her house, and how no one was ever home. He had stopped by constantly over the past two weeks, too, under his invisibility cloak, but still hadn't found her.

He told Harry about the conversation with his mother about Lucius' death and confided his fears that he might only have proposed to Hermione so quickly to spite his late father.

He told him about the side project he had apparently been working on in his own personal potions lab, and how the ingredients seemed to point to something having to do with memories.

Finally, he told him about the bizarre encounter with the jeweler, and his mention of two weddings.

At the end of the long explanation, Harry was whirling.

"Bartender?" Harry called. "We'll take those shots now."

Draco agreed.

"So wait," Harry asked. "You still haven't confirmed anything with this Lindsay person."

"Correct," Draco told him.

"And, even if you were trying to make a memory potion, you were obviously failing at it," Harry told him, trying again to reassure both his friend and himself.

"That's what I thought, but then I found one other piece," Draco told him. He paused here, as if weighing whether to finally divulge this last secret. He realized, though, that he had gone this far, and that the only way forward was to tell Harry everything. Draco finally explained his memory of running into Lucius at the Battle of Hogwarts and the small vial Lucius had tossed him as a "way out." When he finished his explanation, he felt the same wave of hopelessness wash over him as he had when he had first remembered it.

Draco turned to Harry, fully expecting to see a look of defeat and even shame on his friend's face.

Instead, he found elation.

"What are you so happy about, Potter? Don't you get what all of this means?"

"I'm happy because I can explain that piece, and in a way that I think you'll like," Harry told him, maintaining his grin.

"Wait, you know what happened to that potion?" Draco asked, perking up suddenly.

"I do. It was the same day that photograph was taken," he told Draco, pointing to the snapshot of him and Hermione on the couch. "I was helping you move boxes out of your flat and you found it in a drawer. You explained where it came from and what you suspected it was, and asked me to dispose of it in my official capacity as an auror."

"And you did?" Draco asked, his volume rising.

Harry nodded furiously. "I did. The very next week! I'm absolutely positive it was destroyed."

Suddenly there was a new energy between the pair.

"And look at that photograph," Harry pointed out. "Look how happy you were. Do you seriously believe that you proposed to her out of some need to spite your father? You're a better man than that."

Draco looked at the photograph again and felt his confidence rise. Harry was right. This was genuine – this was real.

"There's still the side project," Draco told Harry, his heart racing.

"That was failing," Harry reminded him.

"And there's still Lindsay," Draco added.

"Well that one I can't explain until after we finally meet her," Harry conceded.

"She gets home today," Draco said quietly.

"What?!" Harry practically shouted. "That feels like a pretty important detail to include! How do you know?"

"I overheard her neighbors when I was there yesterday underneath my invisibility cloak. Apparently she's been on holiday and was due to get home this morning. It's actually why I came to the bar today – to try to work up the nerve to finally go knock on her door when I know she'll be home."

"I'm coming with you," Harry announced without hesitation.

"Do you really think you should be there for this?" Draco asked.

"Of course I do. I'm Harry Potter. I'm the guy that does this stuff," Harry told him.

Draco couldn't really argue there.

"Any clue what that jeweler was talking about?" he asked, hoping to rule out one other loose end.

"That one I have no clue on. Maybe he's just crazy?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Let's hope so," Draco agreed.

"Why are you so eager to help me?" Draco asked Harry.

"Because I know that there has to be an explanation for all of this, and you're my friend, and Hermione's my friend, and I know that you belong together," Harry told him confidently.

"But why do you trust me so much? Why do you refuse to believe what the evidence is pointing to?"

Harry paused for a moment, thinking.

"Do you remember what I said to you when we met up in this pub a couple of weeks ago? After Pansy Parkinson gave you her address? I told you that you are many things: short-tempered, arrogant, a total snob…"

"Yes, Potter, I remember," Draco interrupted impatiently.

"And _loyal to a fault_ ," Harry reminded him. "I know you, way better than you're willing to admit, and I just fundamentally know that you would not have cheated on Hermione. You loved her, and even if for some reason the two of you were having problems, you would never have cheated on her. _Ever_."

Harry's confidence lifted Draco's spirits, even as he tried to remain cautious and realistic.

"Well, Potter, it appears we have a mystery in front of us," Draco told him, lifting up his shot glass.

"And we know where we're starting," Harry agreed, lifting his glass as well.

They downed their shots and walked out of the bar, ready to apparate to Lindsay's house and finally get answers.

.

A/N: This was a difficult chapter to write! I initially wanted it to be longer, but I just can't stand writing Sad-Draco. I went for a sort of choppy, panicked rhythm with the first part of the chapter – short sentences, not much dialogue, etc. I wanted to mimic the sort of anxiety Draco was feeling and build some actual tension in the writing itself. Did that work? What did you think?

Also I've been planning that scene between Draco and Harry at the bar since I first started writing this fic – it's one of the scenes I've been the most excited to write. I always have fun with that friendship pairing.

Up next: Draco and Harry get some answers!


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

A/N: I didn't do chapter titles for this fic, but if I had, the last chapter and this one would be titled "Harry Potter and the Mystery of Malfoy's Missing Memories: Parts 1 and 2"

Thanks for sticking with me, and as always, I don't own any of this wonderful universe!

Thank you to everyone who reviewed - you motivate me to keep writing and you give me ideas, too!

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Chapter 11

Draco and Harry apparated to Lindsay's neighborhood and Draco led the way from there. He knew the paces and turns by heart now, having traveled here so frequently over the past few weeks. Harry hurried to keep up with him; he could tell that Draco was filled with nervous energy.

Thunder rumbled in the distance and the pair looked up, surveying the sky. It was going to rain; dark clouds were gathering overhead. Draco tried not to take that as a sign.

After about ten minutes, they arrived in front of Lindsay's house. Draco's breath caught in his throat as he noticed the new feature: there were now lights on in the house.

Draco looked at Harry, who was taking in the whole scene. The muggle cars, the window boxes, the children's toys strewn in front gardens: it was clearly a family neighborhood.

"Still confident, Potter?" Draco asked quietly.

Harry swallowed hard and reached his hand out to his friend's shoulder.

"Still confident, Malfoy," he told him.

Draco took a deep breath and approached the front door.

This was it.

No invisibility cloak, no more delays, no more absent homeowner.

It was time to face the music.

He hesitated only for a moment before knocking on the door. The pair heard movement on the other side of the door and Draco wondered if Harry could feel his pulse racing.

Suddenly, the door in front of them was jerked open and a small woman stood before them. She looked to be around their age – maybe a few years older – probably early-30s. Her honey-blonde hair was pulled up in a loose ponytail and she wore a baggy muggle university sweatshirt over yoga pants. She was pretty, Draco noted absently, and the awareness of that didn't make him feel any better.

The woman first shot them an annoyed expression when she whipped open the door, but when she saw who it was, she looked confused and taken aback.

"Draco?" she asked. "What are you doing here?"

"So you _do_ know me," Draco answered, and he couldn't hide the disappointment in his voice.

"Well yeah, I'd say I know you pretty well at this point," she replied with a smirk. "Who's this?" she asked, pointing to Harry.

"This is Harry," Draco told her. "A friend of mine."

"Harry Potter?" the woman asked.

"The same," Harry replied, trying to give her a polite smile as she ushered them into the house and shut the door. "You're familiar with… our world, then, I take it?" he asked.

"Oh yes, I'm a witch myself. I live here because my mother was muggle-born and my father never could quite leave the village after she passed. I moved in to take care of him a few years ago, but he just passed away this past Spring," she told the pair. "I've been on a long holiday to scatter his ashes, actually."

"I'm so sorry, Lindsay," Harry replied gently.

"That's Dr. Lindsay to you," she replied, a hint of annoyance on her face. She crossed her arms and released an irritated huff.

There was a beat of silence.

"Wait, what?" Draco asked.

"Dr. Eloise Lindsay," the woman said slowly, rolling her eyes. "Honestly, Draco, I know everyone calls me 'Ellie,' but you could at least remember my full name, especially when introducing me to your famous friends."

"I don't remember much of anything right now," Draco replied in frustration, rubbing the back of his neck.

It was then that something dawned on Ellie's face and she quickly ushered them into her sitting room, offering them seats and turning to face them with a look of grave concern on her face.

"What do you mean, Draco? What has happened?" she asked.

Thunder crashed outside and lightning flared in the window. They heard the rain begin slowly at first, but pick up speed after a few moments. Harry and Draco had arrived just in time.

"I woke up four weeks ago with no memory of the last eight years," Draco told her. He quickly gave her the summary of spending two weeks with Hermione, trying to rediscover his memories, as well as the following two weeks he had spent on his own. Harry filled in details as they went, as well.

When they had finished their account, there was an awkward moment as Ellie processed everything, trying to focus in spite of the loud rain outside.

"So you have no memories at all from the past eight years," Ellie asked, checking in again.

"No," Draco confirmed. "And I'm not to the worst part yet."

Ellie leaned in, obviously interested.

"Based on everything we've seen, the doctor thinks I might have done this to myself. He says that my brain's behavior is not consistent with any spell he's seen, and that he thinks a potion is the more likely culprit – and that I most likely took it intentionally."

"But why on earth would you do that?" Ellie asked, incredulous.

There was another small beat of silence.

"Well, that's what we're here to find out," Draco said softly, trying as hard as he could to be brave. "You see, I did some snooping into my records, my papers, all of that, looking for anything that could point to an intentional dosage. In my planner for work, I found fifteen meetings marked 'Lindsay' that were marked otherwise on my secretary's agenda. I clearly was seeing you behind her back – behind everyone's back. So I'm here to learn… what we were to each other."

Draco couldn't make eye contact with her, and instead stared at his folded hands as he leaned out over the chair he was sitting on.

This was it – the moment he would find out just how much of a dirtbag he really was.

But then, he heard something he didn't expect.

Laughter.

Like a lot of laughter – deep, rolling laughter.

He looked up to find Ellie practically doubled over, tears coming out of her eyes.

"Is this funny to you?" he demanded.

"Are you telling me that you…. think that we…. had an…. affair?" she asked, choking out the question between peals of laughter.

"Well that's what the signs point to! Are you going to tell me the truth or not?" Draco asked, annoyed.

Ellie took a moment to compose herself and turned to Harry instead of Draco.

"Do you believe this? Draco Malfoy, honestly thinking that he was having an affair? Does he seriously not remember how obsessed he is with his wife?"

"That's what I tried to tell him," Harry replied, also trying to hide a smirk.

"It was a rational conclusion," Draco said, defending himself.

Ellie had calmed down by now. "I can see that, I really can. I totally get why you thought that. It's just that… if you knew the Draco we knew, you would know why that idea is _so ridiculous_. When I say that you're in love with your wife, it's like the understatement of the century. You two are so devoted to each other that it's almost unsettling at times. You really must have lost your memory to think that you would compromise that."

"Well, obviously I did lose my memory, like I've said now at least a dozen times," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "Now, can you tell me why I was meeting you behind everyone's backs and stop just mocking me?"

"I'm not your mistress, Draco. I'm your doctor," Ellie told him, serious now.

"His doctor?" Harry asked.

Ellie turned back to look at Harry.

"Ok, first of all, I can't talk about any of this in front of you. Doctor-Patient confidentiality," she told him.

"I waive that," Draco replied with a physical wave of his hand. "Harry Potter has already inserted himself into this and he's not going anywhere. It's just sort of his thing."

Harry nodded.

Ellie rolled her eyes again.

"Fine," she began. "You and I met roughly a year and a half ago."

Draco thought back to his agenda book – that matched up with what he had recorded.

"Why did I need a doctor?" Draco asked.

Ellie paused for a moment, trying to find the best way to explain what had happened.

"You were starting to have memory issues," she said gently. "It started about a year before we started working together, I think. At first, it was just small things. You would walk into a room and forget why you went in there, you would forget to put the milk back in the fridge and leave it on the counter all day – that kind of thing. You dismissed it as just being signs of stress or adjusting to living with Hermione – you two had recently moved in together. But then it started to happen more and more frequently, and you began to forget bigger things. Your secretary started writing meetings in your schedule to start ten minutes before the actual start time so that she could remind you several times of each event."

Draco remembered seeing this discrepancy pop up in his agenda – he hadn't thought much of it at the time.

He remembered something else, too, and turned to Harry.

"When you said that thing at Hogwarts about me forgetting to have lunch with you," he referenced, and Harry nodded.

"I was being serious – you really did start forgetting stuff like that all the time. It was annoying, and a bit concerning," Harry acknowledged.

Ellie continued with her explanation.

"You were negotiating with my father on an order of jobberknoll feathers one day and he asked why you were so interested in obtaining large quantities of them. You told him you were particularly interested in memory potions, because you were trying to create something to fix your own issues. My father told you about me and my work, and you thought we could make a good partnership. I'm a muggle doctor, you see," Ellie said, explaining herself to the pair. "I'm a witch, and I went to Hogwarts for a few years, but I really missed my muggle friends and muggle school, so I transferred back to the traditional system. And then I went to medical school. I specialize in brain and memory disorders."

Harry and Draco nodded, finally putting everything together.

"I work closely with the mediwizards at St. Mungo's as well, though – I sort of have a foot in both worlds. You thought I would be helpful, because you couldn't tell if what you were experiencing was a magical or muggle disorder."

"And what was it?" Draco asked.

"We never really figured it out," Ellie conceded. "We were running tests all of the time and trying different spells. You were working on a potion, too, but we weren't getting anywhere. I was convinced it was something magical, just based on the way it seemed to be acting and affecting you. We had started to meet more frequently recently because you could feel your memory getting worse and it was getting harder and harder to keep everything from Hermione."

"I was keeping everything from her?" Draco asked, though he was already pretty sure of the answer.

"Yes," Ellie said sadly. "After everything that had happened with her parents, you didn't want to scare her, not before we knew what this was. It was easy, at first, to hide the issues, because they were so minor, but it got harder as time passed. Things had gotten pretty bad recently – you were getting ready to tell her everything."

"But then I woke up with no memory of anything," Draco filled in quietly.

There was a silent moment in the room, as everyone digested the story they had just heard. The thunder roared again.

"There's one thing I do know for sure," Ellie announced, looking Draco straight in the eyes and taking his hands in hers. "You did not do this to yourself. I would stake my career on that."

For the first time since learning it was a possibility, Draco agreed. It was a good feeling.

"But we're still no closer to figuring out what caused this," Harry added in frustration.

"Are there any other unsolved clues you found during your snooping?" Ellie asked with a trace of sarcasm, clearly not actually hoping for anything. She leaned back in her chair and stared up at the ceiling, trying to think.

"Just this stupid jewelry store clerk claiming I was married twice," Draco muttered, pulling the envelope with the address out of his pocket.

"What?" Ellie asked, confused.

Draco handed her the envelope and started to tell her the story of going to the jewelry store and talking to the hopefully crazy clerk who casually mentioned that he had had two weddings.

As he talked, Ellie turned the envelope over in her hands and saw that it was addressed to Draco, but unopened. She slipped her thumb under the seal and tore it open in one quick motion.

"No!" Draco and Harry cried in unison, leaning forward.

Ellie looked up at them with skepticism. "It's a letter, boys, calm down."

"Clearly you don't spend much time in the wizarding world," Draco told her. "That's from my father – who knows what's in that envelope?"

"I'll take my chances," she replied with a smirk, opening the envelope and peering inside before unleashing an exaggerated gasp and rolling her eyes at them as she pulled out a sheet of paper.

"I feel like you're maybe not that good of a doctor," Draco told her.

She didn't reply, though, because she had started reading the letter.

"That's mine, you know. Isn't it a crime to read someone else's mail?" Draco asked her. He realized that she was reading a very personal letter from his late father and didn't feel totally comfortable with the situation – who knew what Lucius had written in it?

She kept reading, though, deaf to his protests.

After a few moments, she looked up at him.

"Oh, Draco," was all she said, before handing the letter over to him. Harry moved to read over his shoulder. Draco shot him a look of annoyance, but opened the page so that they could read it together.

The letter was dated to March, roughly two months before Lucius had died. That meant it was a little over four years old.

Draco took a moment to mentally prepare himself before beginning to read.

 _Dear Draco,_

 _If you are reading this, I have passed on. It's a strange feeling, to know that one's death is coming soon, but after such a life, I must admit to be glad the end is approaching. I don't know if you will even read this letter, and I couldn't blame you if you chose never to open it, but I will hope that you do._

 _I am writing this letter to apologize to you, since you will not meet with me in person. It has taken me a long time to see your perspective, but I see it clearly now, and I fear you are right. Your mother and I – mainly I – raised you to see the world narrowly, and the fact that you are able to see beyond that narrow scope is to your credit, and yours alone._

 _I must admit that I also have other reasons for writing this letter – more urgent ones. I have made a grave mistake, and though I hope that I have corrected it, there may come a time when you need to know the details of what I have done. You see, Draco, I have been very angry for a long time. Angry at the world for not seeing things from my perspective, angry at the Dark Lord for failing in his work, angry at you for betraying our family, angry at myself for not helping the Dark Lord achieve his mission – angry at pretty much everyone for everything. When you confronted your mother and I after your incident with the graphorn, my anger only grew, and it focused solely on you. I managed to contain it, to repress it, until you began dating the muggleborn._

 _I was certain I would never forgive you for that. It was the ultimate insult, to not only reject my teachings, but to directly contradict them. After it became apparent that the relationship was serious, I decided I needed to take action. I thought I was saving you, Draco. I thought I was helping you._

 _I followed you yesterday morning as you walked through Diagon Alley with Hermione. I was under an invisibility cloak, and stayed far behind you. I trailed you for the better part of an hour, watching and listening, waiting for the perfect opportunity to achieve my aim. That opportunity came when you paused to look in a shop window. I cast a silent spell on you from a few feet away. The spell was delayed until midnight and, at that time, would erase your memories back to a date of my choosing. I chose to go back to around the time you were planning to ask me for a loan for your business, before you started doing everything yourself. It was the last time I could remember you needing me, and in my anger and self-pity, seemed to be the best time to take you back to._

 _I left after casting the spell and returned the Manor, exuberant. And yet. I couldn't settle the entire day – I couldn't stop thinking of the hour I had followed you. The lightness in your step, the color in your eyes, the grin that shone on your face – it occurred to me that it was all so unfamiliar. It hit me then, as these things do. In a rush of recognition, I realized what I had done, through your childhood, through the war, and now to you as an adult._

 _I have never apologized to anyone in my life and have never admitted to a single regret. But this, I sincerely regretted. Though I was angry and bitter, I could not stand to be the cause of that happiness dying. That evening, your mother went to your home for dinner. After she was asleep, I used the floo connection, still open from hours earlier, to travel to your home. You and Hermione were asleep, and I crept into your room and performed the counter-spell. It was before midnight, and I only hope that I possessed the strength to fully remove it. I know the idea of me creeping through your home unwelcome is a sinister one, but in that moment I did not know what else to do._

 _I know you will never forgive me, Draco, and I do not blame you, but I wrote this letter to let you know that I did see the light, even if it was too late. I am proud of the life you have built for yourself, proud of all you have been able to achieve in spite of me. I wish you a life of happiness and peace. There is no one more deserving of it._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Lucius Malfoy_

.

When he finished the note, Draco felt many thoughts and emotions swirling in his mind. His memory first jumped back to what his mother had told him a few weeks earlier – about Lucius being very angry and then suddenly losing that anger the day that he gave her the note to pass on to their son. Draco now understood why he had displayed such a sudden transformation.

He also felt anger, obviously, at this last act of abuse by his father. The idea of Lucius stalking him and Hermione through Diagon Alley and sneaking into their apartment was enough to make him want to throw up. And the idea of casting a spell to send Draco back to the days when he was dependent on his father? It was almost pathological. It _was_ pathological. He seethed at the idea of his father exacting this pathetic level of revenge.

And then there was the other part – the kind words at the end of the letter. He knew his father wasn't exaggerating when he said he never apologized or regretted anything. The knowledge that his father had regretted casting that spell affected him, and he felt the sincerity of Lucius's final words to him. His father had been proud of him, and in spite of everything else he had endured at the feet of his father, he couldn't help that meaning something to him. He knew he didn't forgive Lucius – he didn't know if he ever would, but somehow he couldn't totally hate him either.

And finally, as he processed all of these emotions, his mind came back to the facts of the letter, and what it meant. Lucius had cast the spell. Lucius had caused this, not Draco.

Draco looked up at Ellie, dumbfounded.

She was already standing and pacing the room, muttering to herself and nodding furiously. Suddenly, she took off down a hallway, calling for Harry and Draco to follow her.

The boys looked at each other, confused, but then did as she asked.

At the end of the hallway, they found a small office, which doubled as a sort of laboratory. They found Ellie standing at a large chalkboard on the wall, scribbling notes and drawing lines. Draco noticed piles of folders and printed articles stacked on shelves, along with what looked like complex brain-imaging machinery. This must have been where they conducted their tests.

"Yes, this is it! The missing piece!" she shouted excitedly, connecting things on the chalkboard.

"Care to explain?" Harry asked.

"We've been trying to figure out what caused the memory issues for ages, and we had been going back and forth between a spell and a potion for months – Draco's doctor was not the first person to think of that," Ellie explained to them. "We were zeroing in potions because the effects seemed so erratic – not like the effects of a typical spell. But now it's clear that it wasn't a typical spell. It was a spell that was later removed!"

"And by a wizard far past his prime," Draco added, gaining confidence. "He died just two months later."

Ellie nodded firmly. "That adds up. That would explain the slow memory loss coupled with the sudden removal – and it took you right back to the date he had initially intended."

"The moment where I still needed him," Draco finished for her.

"Exactly!" Ellie shouted.

"So how do we fix it?" Draco asked.

Ellie turned back to her board and stood there for a moment.

The room was quiet and it felt out of place among the excitement and energy of the previous moment.

"I don't know if we can fix it," Ellie finally replied quietly.

"What?" Harry asked. "But we know what caused it now!"

Ellie rubbed her temples in a sign of clear exhaustion.

"We do, but that's not much help, I'm afraid," she told them. "If it were a potion, we could work on some sort of counter-potion, like you had been trying, Draco. And if it were a normal spell, we could try to counteract it somehow. But this is a spell that was implemented and then removed – but somehow in the removal process pieces of it got left behind. I don't know how you counteract that."

"So Draco will never get his memories back?" Harry asked.

"I would guess not," Ellie replied somberly.

It occurred to them suddenly that it was just the two of them talking – that Draco had said nothing since learning that there might be no cure. They both turned to face him and were astonished to find a look of pure joy on his face.

"Draco, didn't you hear what we just said?" Harry asked. "That you will probably never get your memories back?" He tried to be gentle, because he wasn't sure if Draco had now completely lost it.

But then Draco turned to them, and he practically had tears in his eyes.

"It was all real," Draco said quietly. "Everything – my life, our love, all of it. I didn't mess it up – I didn't take my memories away. It was all real."

A heavy silence fell over the room.

"It _is_ real, Draco," Harry corrected.

Draco turned to him and swallowed hard.

"You're right," Draco said with a voice of resolve.

"Speaking of which, why didn't you tell Hermione about all of this?" Ellie asked. "You do realize that you're married to the smartest witch of our generation. She could have figured this whole thing out in under ten minutes, probably."

Draco looked at his feet, unsure of how to reply, but Harry filled in for him.

"He didn't tell Hermione because he couldn't bear the thought of hurting her if he didn't need to. He'd rather suffer on his own than cost her any pain, isn't that right, Draco?" Harry asked quietly. "It's the same reason why you never told her you were working with Dr. Lindsay in the first place – you couldn't stand the thought of causing her unnecessary pain. It's what you've always done. You bear the burden in silence until you absolutely need help. Memories or not, you're still the same person – you're still Draco."

Draco didn't respond, but swallowed hard, looking away.

"And because even without your memories," Harry began, but Draco cut him off.

"I know that I love her," Draco finished quietly. "I love her," he repeated, looking up at Harry and Ellie.

"I think there's someone else who needs to hear that," Ellie told him softly.

"You're right, but how do I go back to her after leaving her the way I did? I left a note like a coward," Draco explained, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"How mad is she?" he asked Harry.

"She's not mad," Harry told him honestly. "She's hurt, and upset, and confused, but she's not mad."

"Do you think she would listen to me?" Draco asked him.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Honestly with these two," he said to Ellie, who grinned in response.

He turned back to Draco. " _Obviously_ , you fool."

"Ok, ok, I'm going, Potter," Draco announced, heading back towards the door.

"I'm coming with you," Harry told him.

Draco was just about to tell him to stop butting into his personal affairs and mind his own business when a patronus suddenly appeared in the hallway. It was a beautiful horse and, when it spoke, Draco heard Ginny's panicked voice.

"Harry? It's time! The baby's coming! Meet me at St. Mungo's! I left the kids with Mum!"

Harry spun around, and Draco was impressed to see how calm he remained after that bit of news. I guess by the third kid, this wasn't that terrifying.

But then Harry's knees crumbled, and Draco realized that he wasn't calm – he was just passing out.

"This way, I have a direct floo connection to St. Mungo's because of my work there," Ellie explained, ushering him down the hall.

She looked back to Draco.

"I don't have a connection to your home – you'll have to apparate. Go!"

Draco nodded, shouted thank you to both of them, and rushed out the door.

The rain that had begun earlier was now pouring down in earnest. Draco didn't waste time with a water-repellant spell, especially in a muggle neighborhood, and instead ran down the street through the rain.

He was soaked instantly, the water making his shoes feel squishy and uncomfortable, but he didn't slow down.

Nothing could slow him down now.

He ran with determination, with energy, and with hope.

The love between Hermione and himself was real – and he deserved it, as much as he ever could.

The pouring rain reminded him of the memory Hermione had shared with him of their first kiss. That day, they had run through a park in pouring rain just like this, and had shared their first kiss dripping wet.

His first thought when he recalled the image was how badly he wished he could remember the press of her lips, the feel of her wet hair against his cheek.

But then, as he ran through the rain so full of hope at the thought of seeing his wife again, he found himself letting go of that impulse. He stopped short, standing on the sidewalk, and tipped his head back to the sky, grinning like an idiot in the pouring rain. In that moment, he cared less about remembering their past and more about building their future. His face boasted an absurd grin as he realized that there would be more rainstorms in their future – more storms to run through, to walk through, to kiss through.

There would be days, weeks, months, of rain – and of sunshine. And he was going to do his best to enjoy all of it with her. He started running again.

Every step that he took brought him closer to the apparition point, closer to her. He didn't know what he was going to say to her, but just knew that he had to see her. He had to explain everything and had to beg her to take another chance on him, to keep taking chances on him.

He was no longer envious of the Draco in the photograph from his desk who had looked at Hermione with such love in his eyes, because in his heart he knew that love. He loved her with a force that couldn't be tempered by a loss of memory. His brain, his heart, and his entire body knew that he loved her, and they all propelled him closer to her by the moment. He hadn't messed it up. He still deserved her – they still deserved each other.

It didn't matter how he had lost his memories. It didn't matter if he ever got them back. None of that mattered now. All that mattered was Hermione and getting to her as quickly as he could.

When he reached the apparition point, completely soaked and dripping, he spun on the spot, and thought of his destination, _home_ , as if the term had never meant so much to him.

He was going home. He was going home to Hermione.

.

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A/N: Ellie was never meant to be a character in this story (when I first started it), but now I absolutely adore her. We'll get a bit more from her before the end! Also, "I feel like you're maybe not that good of a doctor" is my favorite line in this fic so far.

One more chapter to go – and it's the big one! I'm so excited to share it with you.

Also, one final opportunity to figure out the song mystery that's been developing throughout the whole fic – what is the song that Draco *almost* keeps getting to hear? It's going to play a pretty big part in the next chapter :-)


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

A/N: Here it is, the final chapter! Thank you for reading and especially for leaving reviews – it definitely motivates me! As always, I don't own any of this beautiful universe, but goodness it's fun to play.

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Chapter 12

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Draco apparated to the front garden of his and Hermione's house and the first thing he noticed was the abrupt change in weather. It wasn't raining here and, judging by the dry grass he was standing on, it hadn't yet that day. He glanced to the sky and it was cloudy, but not ominous. It could go either way.

 _That seemed to be a bit prophetic_ , he thought.

He didn't have time to worry anymore, though, and he raced inside. He called for Hermione, but didn't hear anything back. He started to move through the house, but it became impossible to ignore his sopping wet clothing.

Cursing, he paused his search for a moment to cast a drying spell. It worked, for the most part, but he couldn't concentrate hard enough for it to dry out his shoes… or perhaps they were just a lost cause. Either way, he kicked them off and peeled off his wet socks as well.

Instantly, he returned to his search. He ran through the house, calling her name, but couldn't find her. There were lights on and her bag was on the counter – he knew she was probably home somewhere… he just couldn't figure out where.

Then, he heard a loud curse coming from the back garden, and ran for the door to the patio.

In the fading sunlight, he saw Hermione struggling with pruning shears and waving her right hand in the air, as if she had just pinched her finger in the handle. It was clear she was out of her element, but it was also so true to Hermione: doing her best to keep everything going in his absence, to right the ship and keep it moving. His love for her grew and he smiled at her efforts.

He considered his bare feet for a moment, but nothing was going to keep him from his wife, and he raced down to find her. Faintly, he realized he heard music playing.

…

Hermione, on the other hand, remained ignorant to Draco's presence. She was beyond frustrated with whatever this stupid plant was. It seemed to be actually fighting her as she tried to prune it. She could swear a branch had just reached out and snapped her finger in the handle.

Stupid plants.

She was playing music from a speaker nearby – the only thing making the process tolerable. Unfortunately, it was also loud enough to drown out Draco's earlier calls for her.

She paused in her work to wipe the back of her hand across her forehead. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, mentally going over how much more she could fit in tonight. She probably had about thirty minutes of daylight left – if she kept pushing, she could finish this row.

It was then she realized what song had just started playing – the one she had avoided listening to for the past few weeks.

The song started with a light, bouncy beat. Just the sound of those first notes brought tears to her eyes… but they were happy tears. This song could only bring her happiness, even with all that she had lost.

She listened to the opening lines of _Close to You_ by The Carpenters and even started to sing them to herself quietly.

"Why do birds suddenly appear every time you are near? Just like me, they long to be close to you… Why do stars fall down from the sky every time you walk by? Just like me, they long to be close to you…"

But before she could continue to sing the rest of the song, she heard footsteps behind her and whirled around to see who was approaching.

She couldn't believe the sight in front of her. It was Draco, running towards her with bare feet and messy hair, and the biggest grin she had ever seen on his face, visible even from a distance. The sight of him alarmed for a second, but with that smile she knew that he could only bring good news. She dropped the pruning shears and turned fully to him, a giant smile spreading across her face as well.

…

When Draco saw Hermione's face break out in a smile, he picked up speed, eager to reach her.

But then, as he ran down the well-worn path, something unexpected happened.

He couldn't explain it, not then and not later, but it seemed that many things happened all at once.

He felt the dirt beneath his feet, and something about it felt like home and comfort. He smelled basil in the air, and something about it brought him back to Hermione and to warmth. He heard a strange song playing in the background and suddenly knew the words to it. _On the day that you were born the angels got together and decided to create a dream come true, so they sprinkled moon dust in your hair and golden starlight in your eyes of blue…_ ran through his mind and his steps slowed.

And then there were her eyes. Hermione's eyes, looking directly into his, and in that moment, he knew. He knew everything, all at once, and unexplainably. It was the feel of the dirt, the smell of the basil, the sound of the song, and the sight of her eyes that all swirled together and suddenly, suddenly, suddenly everything shifted into place.

Draco stopped short on the path, waves of memories washing over him so fast he could barely see them all. They flew into his mind as if they were filling it up, returning to the places they had lived happily for so long.

 _He remembered the desperation of his failing business and the excitement he felt when he decided to set out on his own eight years earlier. He could feel the nervousness he had felt then, knowing that this was his last chance to establish his independence and make something of himself. He watched himself packing his bags, unpacking them, and repacking them again over and over before finally charging out the door of his flat._

 _He remembered traveling up mountains, down long and winding rivers, into dark caves, through perilous jungles. He felt the thrill of finding what he was searching for and the fulfillment of learning how to collect everything himself._

 _He saw himself meeting locals, learning customs and tools of the trade, gathering different components and species, and making connections with clients. He felt the confident smile he had sported for perhaps the first time as he paid his rent without his family's assistance._

Memories swirled and time jumped ahead.

 _Draco now remembered when the traveling became tiring, when the nights started to feel longer, and days when he realized he hadn't spoken to anyone in days. He remembered forgetting what his voice sounded like._

 _He remembered the graphorn. He remembered learning about it, tracking it, finally spotting one. He remembered the warning from the local man that he would regret killing it – and remembered the moment of hesitation before he did so. He remembered the overwhelming sight of his greatest regrets and greatest fears appearing before his eyes as the graphorn took his final breaths. He remembered swearing to never turn into his father, and to use that conviction to rebuild his life._

 _He remembered confronting his parents, finally conveying his anger and hurt. He remembered his mother's face as he stormed from the room, never intending to see them again._

Time jumped again and images swirled.

 _He remembered a night in Paris after meeting with a potential buyer and looking out over the city. It was supposed to be the most romantic city in the world, and here he was, empty. He had everything he had ever wanted in his life, and yet nothing that he needed. At that moment, he realized that he would trade everything he had gained to have someone at his side._

He realized in that moment that that was why he had taken Hermione to Paris on their first date.

He remained frozen on the path in the garden, memories whooshing past him faster than he could even make sense of all of them. His eyes remained locked on Hermione's. They both seemed frozen in place, and he noted her expression was a mix of panic and hope.

 _Now he remembered seeing her in that café on that terrible first date she was struggling through. When he recognized her, something inside of him felt warm for the first time in a long time, and somehow he knew that walking up to her table would be life-changing, and he couldn't do it fast enough._

 _He remembered walking home with her that first night and feeling so alive. He could even feel the tingling in his fingertips now that he had felt that night when their hands had grazed on their walk._

 _He remembered pacing outside of her bookstore for fifteen minutes the following week before working up the courage to enter. He remembered grabbing the first book he could reach off of the shelf and trying to play it cool. He remembered coming back again and again because she was a magnet and he had no reason at all to fight it. He remembered falling asleep happy for the first time in years after a long evening of talking with her over issues ranging from mushrooms to morality._

 _He remembered them cooking together in his apartment kitchen and feeling for the first time that the flat felt like a home, the smell of basil permanently lingering in the kitchen._

 _He remembered walking through the park with her and singing an old song his mother had played for him when he was young – Close to You, by the Carpenters. He chose it because the birds seemed to follow them through the trees as they walked, and Hermione's delighted smile upon learning that he knew what turned out to be one of her favorites was enough to keep him singing it every time they walked through that park._

 _He remembered their first kiss, coming at the end of a walk through that same park, though the rain kept the birds away that day. He remembered running and then walking through that pouring rain and just wishing that the night would last forever. He wondered if this was how people became mermaids and mermen – they got trapped in a romantic rainfall and decided to live underwater for the rest of their lives, because it was better than letting the moment end._

 _He remembered kissing her in her apartment doorway and feeling simultaneously elated and panicked. What if she never spoke to him again? What if he lost their entire friendship? In the end, he had decided that it was worth it. That one perfect moment was worth losing everything and if he hadn't kissed her that night, he would have regretted it for the rest of his life._

 _He remembered the agonizing months after that kiss as he tried to sort through his feelings and figure out how she felt for him. He remembered being terrified to bring it up – to burst the bubble of their perfect friendship._

 _He remembered the feeling of his stomach sinking to his toes when she told him she had a date with Lee Jordan. He remembered the following week and a half as the worst of his life: he couldn't eat, he couldn't sleep, and he couldn't focus on work at all. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. Every time he opened them, he didn't see her – and that was worse._

 _He remembered whispering those fateful words – I'm in love with you – and the hollowness he felt inside when she stormed out of his flat. He had felt empty, lost, purposeless, and he honestly wasn't sure how he would survive or where he would go from there. It wasn't that he couldn't live without her: it was that he didn't remember how to._

 _He remembered seeing her run onto his balcony later that night, remembered hearing her say those blessed words back to him, and remembered the feeling of finally claiming her in that kiss, knowing that he was hers and she was his and promising himself that nothing would ever change that._

 _He had known that night that he wanted to marry her and spend the rest of his life with her: he had probably known even before then. He had almost told her that, too, but didn't want to scare her away._

 _He remembered the first few weeks of dating her – how amazing it felt to just hold her hand or push her hair back behind her ear without second-guessing it. Knowing that they belonged to each other – it was the greatest feeling he had ever experienced. He fell asleep every night just stunned at how lucky he was._

 _He remembered how gently she had suggested visiting his mother, how she had talked him into it over weeks and months. He remembered her squeezing his hand before they knocked on the door and the look of confidence and solidarity she gave him as he took a deep breath. He remembered his mother telling him that Hermione was perfect for him and thinking that he had never agreed with his mother more._

Memories of the next few months flashed by even more quickly than the last ones.

 _He saw Hermione's bright smile as they split dessert in a cozy restaurant. He heard her laugh while she tried to teach him how to cook. He felt the warmth of her pressed against his side each night, and could even remember the small tingle of her breath against his neck._

 _There were other memories, too – more intimate ones. Memories of clothes being dropped in hallways, of kisses so intense they sent sparks through his mind, of hands and mouths and bodies united in love and lust, of connections so incredible that they left him speechless._

 _And then there was Lucius. The memory of his mother's patronus arriving in their living room, asking Draco to call her as soon as he could. The memory of his father's funeral and of Hermione's hand holding his – she was the only reason he had even gone._

 _The memory of looking down at their joined hands at the graveside and knowing that he just had to ask her to marry him. This woman had reshaped his life so completely and have given him so much. He couldn't spend another second without committing to spend the rest of his life with her. He couldn't continue to call her his girlfriend when what she was was so much more profound than that._

He had decided to propose to Hermione not out of a desire to spite Lucius, but out of an intense love and recognition of all that she meant to him. And as he looked at her eyes in the garden now, he couldn't believe that he had ever doubted that.

More memories came back to him now and he was powerless to stop them.

 _He remembered walking up to the astronomy tower with Hermione and telling her about the fateful events that had taken place there between himself and Dumbledore. He remembered the intense nerves he felt as he built to the proposal. He knew Hermione loved him, but this still had to be one of the biggest risks he had ever taken. He remembered the whoosh he had felt when she had said yes and how he couldn't even stop himself from twirling her around in the air, even though he knew it was cliché. He was so happy in that moment that he couldn't bring himself to care about anything that trivial._

 _He remembered the early days of wedding planning – looking at venues, flowers, menus… he remembered how bored they both were with all of it and how they would look at each other and roll their eyes every time a new owl arrived from his mother. The only thing they knew for certain was the song they would dance to for the first time as husband and wife – Close to You, the song that had been theirs since their early walks in the park with the birds and the starlight._

All of the sudden, a new memory came to him, and this one caught his attention more than the others.

 _He remembered standing out in this garden with Hermione. She was wearing a light white sundress and had garden roses and lavender loosely tucked into her hair. He was wearing shorts and a white button down shirt. Both were barefoot. There was someone else there… the man from the jewelry store._

"Oh," Draco said softly, the first sound he had made since the memories had started.

The sound seemed to pause the train of memories, and he was able to focus on the present moment instead of the deluge of flashbacks. He wasn't sure how much time had passed – it had felt like years, but really was probably only a matter of seconds, judging by how far along the song was.

He had not broken eye contact with Hermione and he took the last few steps necessary to reach her now.

"Draco," she started, but he interrupted her, eager to make sense of what seemed impossible in his mind.

"I married you here," he told her quietly. "You and I got married here, right in our garden. And this song was playing."

Hermione's eyes filled with tears and for a moment she just stood there in shock, but then she started nodding vigorously and threw herself into his arms.

He caught her without hesitation and held onto her as if she was his anchor in the midst of a storm.

They stood there for a moment, just holding each other, but then Draco needed to understand, and pulled back slightly to look at her.

"I married you here, but our wedding was in Spain – how is that possible?" he asked, trying to put together all of the different memories now fighting for his attention.

"We decided we couldn't wait," Hermione told him with a small giggle. "We were picking out our wedding bands and talking to the clerk about how we wished we could just get married at home in our garden, just the two of us. It turns out that he's ordained, and he offered to marry us that night. We took him up on it without hesitation."

Draco nodded, remembering what she had just explained. "We toyed with the idea of inviting our friends, but decided that we wanted it to be just between us," he added. He knew now what the clerk had meant when he referred to "both" of Draco's weddings.

Hermione smiled and nodded.

"Why didn't you tell me about this when my memories were gone?" he asked, reaching out to cup her cheek. He found that he couldn't stop touching her now.

"I wanted one thing – one thing that would tell me for sure that you really had your memories back. I decided to hold onto that one, just to have something that no one else knew. I'm sorry if that was selfish," Hermione explained.

"Are you kidding me? After all that you've done for me the last four weeks, you're worried about acting selfish?" Now he brought both hands to frame her face and laughed at her unneeded worry.

"So you remember me?" she asked softly.

He stared deep into her eyes, with his hands softly combing through her hair.

"I remember everything," he told her.

And he did.

He kissed her deeply then, and as he did so, the rest of his memories flew into place. Years of memories – of their wedding in Spain, and of their married life together. Days and weeks and months and years – all of it returned to his mind. They poured over him like waves, but Hermione kept him from drowning.

When he finally pulled back from the kiss, his mind had caught up to the present day. He felt whole, complete, and he couldn't tell if it was because all of his memories were back in his mind, or because the love of his life was back in his arms.

"I missed you," Hermione said softly, sinking further into his arms.

"I missed you too. Even when I couldn't remember us, I missed you," Draco whispered softly into her ear.

…

A few hours later, their friends and family were gathered in their home to celebrate the return of Draco's memories. Draco and Hermione had toyed with waiting until the next day to spread the word, but couldn't wait to share the good news with their loved ones. The gathering had turned into an impromptu party as more and more people emerged from their fireplace.

Harry couldn't be there, because Ginny was still in labor, but he sent his congratulations via a somewhat panicked-sounding patronus. Ron threw his arms around Draco and told him that they needed to spend more time together and Draco politely agreed, already planning to claim he was busy the next time Ron offered. Neville came over to celebrate, but when he caught a peek of the garden from the back window, couldn't help himself from getting to work. Draco understood the impulse, but he was committed to staying by his wife's side, for tonight at least.

Narcissa was thrilled and brought over three bottles of her best wine to mark the occasion. It's possible that Ron consumed an entire bottle on his own.

Draco invited Ellie over, too, and she and Hermione hit it off immediately. Draco and Hermione explained what had happened in the back garden to Ellie as best they could and asked if she could make any sense of it.

"I can't say for sure, but I would guess that it had something to do with the sensory stimulation," Ellie told them. "From what you described, Draco, it sounds like our mind was flooded with familiar sounds, sights, smells, and even feelings with the dirt under your feet. It's the kind of thing you couldn't set up intentionally, but that somehow just happened."

"That means that we won't necessarily be able to replicate it, so try to hang on to your memories this time," Hermione told him, teasing. She knew now what had caused them to disappear in the first place. While Draco was still focusing on the hateful thing his father had done, Hermione instead chose to focus on his remorse and his attempt to fix it. For the millionth time, Draco's wife stunned him in her courage and generosity.

As Ellie and Hermione chatted, Draco noticed that Hermione seemed to be fishing for something. When she finally got Ellie to admit that she was single, her eyes lit up.

"Have you met Neville Longbottom?" she asked.

"No, I actually haven't. I'd love to meet him – I've heard such great things from Draco about his business partner."

"I believe he's out in the garden," Hermione told her, ushering Ellie to the patio.

"What are you doing?" Draco whispered in her ear.

"Taking a cue from your question a few weeks ago – setting Neville up with 'Lindsay.'"

Draco offered her a smirk, surprised that she remembered what he thought was a subtle move. But this was Hermione, after all – she remembered everything.

As the night began to wind down, Draco decided to thank everyone for coming and to offer one final toast. He took inspiration from what Ellie had said earlier.

"To the feel of the dirt beneath my feet, and this home, which has always been a place of solace and strength for us. To the smell of the basil, a memory of what started as an excuse to flirt with the beautiful bookstore owner I had a crush on, and which later became an integral part of the meals we cooked together as we fell in love. To the song _Close to You_ , which always reminds us of our first walks through our favorite park, where we either watched the birds or the stars together. And to my wife's eyes, the sight that will never fail to make my heart race. To Hermione, the woman who loved me enough to transform my life and to stick by my side when I forgot all of it."

"And to Draco," Hermione added. "Whose heart, strength, and character make me fall in love with him over and again every day."

"You forgot my dashing good looks," Draco added cheekily. Hermione eyed him flirtatiously.

"Aaaand, that's our cue to leave," Neville announced. "Trust me, I know where this is going."

Their friends said their goodbyes and departed for the evening.

As for the rest, well, Neville wasn't wrong.

…

 **Two Years Later**

Draco stood in the hospital room, looking at his newborn baby girl in his arms.

"She's perfect," he told Hermione.

"So you've said," Hermione replied. "Is it my turn to hold her yet?"

"Ten more minutes," Draco told her. She rolled her eyes.

"Any word from Ellie and Neville yet?" she asked after a moment.

"Not yet, but they're on their honeymoon – it will take the patronus a little while to reach them."

"They'll be kicking themselves when they find out they missed their goddaughter's birth, but that's what happens when someone comes three weeks early," Hermione said with a smile, looking at her baby girl's face. "You're right, though. She is perfect."

"Almost as perfect as her mother," Draco replied. "But she has time to grow into it."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but stopped when she saw sincerity in Draco's gaze.

He reached for her hand and held it tightly, still carefully cradling the baby in his other arm.

"I love you, Hermione Granger, more than anything on this entire Earth."

Hermione smiled up at him.

"And don't you ever forget it," she told him with a smirk.

And he never did again.

.

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A/N: And there it is! Yes, the ending is cheesy, but whatever, I like cheese! Thanks again for reading and let me know what you think about this ending!


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